LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


^5-5" 


SUNRISE 


BY 

WILLIAM    BLACK. 

Author  of  "  Shandon    Bells"    "  Yolande"   "Strange  Adventures  cf  a 
PJiaeton,"  "Madcap   Violet,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW   YORK: 

JOHN     B.     ALDEN,     PUBLISHER, 
1883. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.      A    FIRST    INTERVIEW I 

II.      PLEADINGS 8 

III.  IN  A  HOUSE   IN  CURZON  STREET H 

IV.  A    STRANGER. 23 

V.    PIONEERS; 29 

VI.      BON    VOYAGE  ! 37 

VII.      IN  SOLITUDE. 44 

VIII.      A  DISCOVERY $1 

IX.      A  NIGHT   IN  VENICE 58 

X.      VACILLATION . 64 

XI.      A    COMMISSION 72 

XII.     JACTA  EST  ALEA 79 

XIII.  SOUTHWARD 86 

XIV.  A    RUSSIAN    EPISODE 94 

XV.      NEW    FRIENDS IOI 

XVI.      A  LETTER Io8 

XVII.      CALABRESSA. . 115 

XVIII.      HER  ANSWER 1 23 

XIX.      AT    THE  CULTURVEREIN 129 

XX.      FIDELIO 137 

XXI.      FATHER  AND   DAUGHTER 144 

XXII.      EVASIONS 151 

XXIII.  A  TALISMAN 158 

XXIV.  AN   ALTERNATIVE 165 

XXV.    A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE '. 172 

XXVI.    A  PROMISE 179 

XXVII.      KIRSKI 1 86 

XXVIII.      A   CLIMAX , 1 93 

XXIX.      A   GOOD-NIGHT    MESSAGE 2OI 

XXX.      SOME    TREASURES 2o8 

XXXI.      IN   A  GARDEN  AT   POSILIPO 21$ 

XXXII.      FRIEND  AND   SWEETHEART 223 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXIII.  INTERVENTION 230 

XXXIV.  AN  ENCOUNTER 237 

XXXV.      THE  MOTHER 245 

XXXVI.      THE   VELVET   GLOVE 252 

XXXVII.      SANTA    GLAUS 259 

XXXVIII.      A   SUMMONS 266 

XXXIX.      A   NEW    HOME 274 

XL.      A   GONCLAVE 280 

XLI.      IN  THE  DEEPS 288 

XLIL      A   COMMUNICATON 295 

XLIII.      A  QUARREL 302 

XLIV.      A  TWICE-TOLD   TALE 308 

XLV.      SOUTHWARD 316 

XLVI.      THE     BEECHES 321 

XLVII.      AT    PORTICI 329 

XLVIII.      AN   APPEAL 337 

XLIX.      AN    EMISSARY 345 

L.      A   WEAK    BROTHER 352 

LI.      THE  CONJURER 359 

LII.      FIAT  JUSTITIA 366 

LIII.      THE    TRIAL 373 

LIV.      PUT  TO  THE  PROOF 380 

LV.      CONGRATULATIONS 387 

LVI.      A    COMMISSION 394 

LVIL      FAREWELL  ! 4OI 

LVIII.      A   SACRIFICE .    409 

LIX.      NATALIE    SPEAKS 416 

LX.     NEW  SHORES 424 


SUNRISE 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  FIRST  INTERVIEW. 

ONE  chilly  afternoon  in  February,  while  as  yet  the  London 
season  had  not  quite  begun,  though  the  streets  were  busy 
enough,  an  open  barouche  was  being  rapidly  driven  along 
Piccadilly  in  the  direction  of  Coventry  Street ;  and  its  two 
occupants,  despite  the  dull  roar  of  vehicles  around  them, 
seemed  to  be  engaged  in  eager  conversation.  One  of  these 
two  was  a  tall,  handsome,  muscular-looking  man  of  about 
thirty,  with  a  sun-tanned  face,  piercing  gray  eyes,  and  a  red- 
dish-brown beard  cropped  in  the  foreign  fashion ;  the  other, 
half  hidden  among  the  voluminous  furs  of  the  carriage,  was  a 
pale,  humpbacked  lad,  with  a  fine,  expressive,  intellectual 
face,  and  large,  animated,  almost  woman-like  eyes.  The  for- 
mer was  George  Brand,  of  Brand  Beeches,  Bucks,  a  bachelor 
unattached,  and  a  person  of  no  particular  occupation,  except 
that  he  had  tumbled  about  the  world  a  good  deal,  surveying 
mankind  with  more  or  less  of  interest  or  indifference.  His 
companion  and  friend,  the  bright-eyed,  beautiful-faced,  hump- 
backed lad,  was  Ernest  Francis  D'Agincourt,  thirteenth  Baron 
Evelyn. 

The  discussion  was  warm  ;  though  the  elder  of  the  two 
friends  spoke  deprecatingly,  at  times  even  scornfully. 

"  I  know  what  is  behind  all  that,"  he  said.  "  They  are 
making  a  dupe  of  you,  Evelyn.  A  parcel  of  miserable  Lei- 
cester Square  conspirators,  plundering  the  working-man  of 
all  countries  of  his  small  savings,  and  humbugging  him  with 
promises  of  twopenny-halfpenny  revolutions  1  That  is  not 
the  sort  of  thing  for  you  to  mix  in.  It  is  not  English,  all 
that  dagger  and  dark-lantern  business,  even  if  it  were  real ; 
but  when  it  is  only  theatrical — when  they  are  only  stage  dag- 
gers— when  the  wretched  creatures  who  mouth  about  assas- 


2  SUNXtSE. 

sination  and  revolution  are  only  swaggering  for  half-pence — 
bah  !     What  part  do  you  propose  to  play  ? " 

"  I  tell  you  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  daggers  and  dark 
lanterns,"  said  the  other  with  even  greater  warmth.  "  Why 
will  you  run  your  head  against  a  windmill  ?  Why  must  you 
see  farther  into  a  mile-stone  than  anybody  else  ?  I  wonder, 
with  all  your  travelling,  you  have  not  got  rid  of  some  of  that 
detestable  English  prejudice  and  suspicion.  I  tell  you  that 
when  I  am  allowed,  even  as  an  outsider,  to  see  something  of 
this  vast  organization  for  the  defence  of  the  oppressed,  for 
the  protection  of  the  weak,  the  vindication  of  the  injured,  in 
every  country  throughout  the  globe — when  I  see  the  splen- 
did possibilities  before  it — when  I  find  that  even  a  useless 
fellow  like  myself  may  do  some  little  thing  to  lessen  the 
mighty  mass  of  injustice  and  wrong  in  the  world — well,  I  am 
not  going  to  stop  to  see  that  every  one  of  my  associates  is  of 
pure  English  birth,  with  a  brother-in-law  on  the  Bench,  and 
an  uncle  in  the  House  of  Lords.  I  am  glad  enough  to  have 
something  to  do  that  is  worth  doing ;  something  to  believe 
in  ;  something  to  hope  for.  You — what  do  you  believe  in  ? 
What  is  there  in  heaven  or  earth  that  you  believe  in  ? " 

"  Suppose  I  say  that  I  believe  in  you,  Evelyn  ?  "  said  his 
friend,  quite  good-naturedly  ;  "  and  some  day,  when  you  can 
convince  me  that  your  newly  discovered  faith  is  all  right, 
you  may  find  me  becoming  your  meek  disciple,  and  even 
your  apostle.  But  I  shall  want  something  more  than  Union 
speeches,  you  know." 

By  this  time  the  carriage  had  passed  along  Coventry  Street, 
turned  into  Prince's  Street,  and  been  pulled  up  opposite  a 
commonplace-looking  house  in  that  distinctly  dingy  thorough- 
fare, Lisle  Street,  Soho. 

"  Not  quite  Leicester  Square,  but  near  enough  to  serve," 
said  Brand,  with  a  contemptuous  laugh,  as  he  got  out  of  the 
barouche,  and  then,  with  the  greatest  of  care  and  gentleness, 
assisted  his  companion  to  alight. 

They  crossed  the  pavement  and  rang  a  bell.  Almost  in- 
stantly the  door  was  opened  by  a  stout,  yellow-haired,  blear- 
eyed  old  man,  who  wore  a  huge  overcoat  adorned  with  masses 
of  shabby  fur,  and  who  carried  a  small  lamp  in  his  hand,  for 
the  afternoon  had  grown  to  dusk.  The  two  visitors  were  evi- 
dently expected.  Having  given  the  younger  of  them  a  deep- 
ly respectful  greeting  in  German,  the  fur-coated  old  gentle- 
man shut  the  door  after  them,  and  proceeded  to  show  the 
way  up  a  flight  of  narrow  and  not  particularly  clean  wooden 
stairs. 


A  FIRST  INTER  VIE  W.  3 

"  Conspiracy  doesn't  seem  to  pay,'  remarked  George 
Brand,  half  to  himself. 

On  the  landing  they  were  confronted  by  a  number  of  doors, 
one  of  which  the  old  German  threw  open.  They  entered  a 
large,  plainly  furnished,  well-lit  room,  looking  pretty  much 
like  a  merchant's  office,  though  the  walls  were  mostly  hung 
with  maps  and  plans  of  foreign  cities.  Brand  looked  round 
with  a  supercilious  air.  All  his  pleasant  and  friendly  manner 
had  gone.  He  was  evidently  determined  to  make  himself  as 
desperately  disagreeable  as  an  Englishman  can  make  him- 
self when  introduced  to  a  foreigner  whom  he  suspects.  But 
even  he  would  have  had  to  confess  that  there  was  no  sugges- 
tion of  trap-doors  or  sliding  panels  in  this  ordinary,  business- 
like room ;  and  not  a  trace  of  a  dagger  or  a  dark  lantern 
anywhere. 

Presently,  from  a  door  opposite,  an  elderly  man  of  middle 
height  and  spare  and  sinewy  frame  walked  briskly  in,  shook  • 
hands  with  Lord  Evelyn,  was  introduced  to  the  tall,  red- 
bearded  Englishman  (who  still  stood,  hat  in  hand,  and  with 
a  portentous  stiffness  in  his  demeanor),  begged  his  two  guests 
to  be  seated,  and  himself  sat  down  at  an  open  bureau,  which 
was  plentifully  littered  with  papers. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Brand,"  he  said,  speaking 
carefully,  and  with  a  considerable  foreign  accent.  "  Lord 
Evelyn  has  several  times  promised  me  the  honor  of  making 
your  acquaintance." 

Mr.  Brand  merely  bowed  :  he  was  intent  on  making  out 
what  manner  of  man  this  suspected  foreigner  might  be  ;  and 
he  was  puzzled.  At  first  sight  Ferdinand  Lind  appeared  to 
be  about  fifty  or  fifty- five  years  of  age  ;  his  closely  cropped 
hair  was  gray ;  and  his  face,  in  repose,  somewhat  care-worn. 
But  then  when  he  spoke  there  was  an  almost  youthful  vivacity 
in  his  look ;  his  dark  eyes  were  keen,  quick,  sympathetic  ; 
and  there  was  even  a  certain  careless  ease  about  his  dress — 
about  the  turned-down  collar  and  French-looking  neck-tie, 
for  example — that  had  more  of  the  air  of  the  student  than  of 
the  pedant  about  it.  All  this  at  the  first  glance.  It  was 
only  afterward  you  came  to  perceive  what  was  denoted  by 
those  heavy,  seamed  brows,  the  firm,  strong  mouth,  and  the 
square  line  of  the  jaw.  These  told  you  of  the  presence  of 
an  indomitable  and  inflexible  will.  Here  was  a  man  born  to 
think,  and  control,  and  command. 

"  With  that  prospect  before  me,"  he  continued,  apparently 
taking  no  notice  of  the  Englishman's  close  scrunity,  "  I  must 
ask  you,  Mr.  Brand — well,  you  know,  it  is  merelv  a  matter  of 


4  SU&KIS&. 

form — but  I  must  ask  you  to  be  so  very  kind  as  to  give  me 
your  word  of  honor  that  you  will  not  disclose  anything  you 
may  see  or  learn  here.  Have  you  any  objection  ? " 

Brand  stared,  then  said,  coldly, 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  I  will  give  you  that  pledge,  if  you  wish 
it." 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  deal  with  Englishmen,"  said  Mr.  Lind, 
politely.  "  A  word,  and  it  is  done.  But  I  suppose  Lord 
Evelyn  has  told  you  that  we  have  no  very  desperate  secrets. 
Secrecy,  you  know,  one  must  use  sometimes ;  it  is  an  induce- 
ment to  many — most  people  are  fond  of  a  little  mystery  ;  and 
it  is  harmless." 

Brand  said  nothing ;  Lord  Evelyn  thought  he  might  have 
been  at  least  civil.  But  when  an  Englishman  is  determined 
on  being  stiff,  his  stiffness  is  gigantic. 

"  If  I  were  to  show  you  some  of  the  tricks  of  this  very 
room,"  said  this  grizzled  old  foreigner  with  the  boyish  neck- 
tie, "  you  might  call  me  a  charlatan ;  but  would  that  be  fair  ? 
We  have  to  make  use  of  various  means  for  what  we  consider 
a  good  end,  a  noble  end ;  and  there  are  many  people  who 
love  mystery  and  secrecy.  With  you  English  it  is  different 
— you  must  have  Everything  above-board." 

The  pale,  fine  face  of  the  sensitive  lad  sitting  there  became 
clouded  over  with  disappointment.  He  had  brought  this 
old  friend  of  his  with  some  vague  hope  that  he  might  become 
a  convert,  or  at  least  be  sufficiently  interested  to  make  inqui- 
ries ;  but  Brand  sat  silent,  with  a  cold  indifference  that  was 
only  the  outward  sign  of  an  inward  suspicion. 

"  Sometimes,  it  is  true,"  continued  Mr.  Lind,  in  nowise 
disconcerted,  "  we  stumble  on  the  secrets  of  others.  Our 
association  has  innumerable  feelers ;  and  we  make  it  our 
business  to  know  what  we  can  of  everything  that  is  going  on. 
For  example,  I  could  tell  you  of  an  odd  little  incident  that 
occurred  last  year  in  Constantinople.  A  party  of  four  gentle- 
men were  playing  cards  there  in  a  private 'room." 

Brand  started.  The  man  who  was  speaking  took  no  no- 
tice. 

"  There  were  two  Austrian  officers,  a  Roumanian  count, 
and  an  Englishman,"  he  continued,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way.  "  It  was  in  a  private  room,  as  I  said.  The  Englishman 
was,  after  a  time,  convinced  that  the  Roumanian  was  cheat- 
ing ;  he  caught  his  wrist — showed  the  false  cards ;  then  he  man- 
aged to  ward  off  the  blow  of  a  dagger  which  the  Roumanian 
aimed  at  him,  and  by  main  force  carried  him  to  the  door  and 
threw  him  dosvn-stairs.  It  was  cleverly  done,  but  the  Eng- 


A  FIRST  INTER  VIE  W.  5 

lishman  was  very  big  and  strong.  Afterward  the  two  Austrian 
officers,  who  knew  the  Verdt  family,  begged  the  Englishman 
never  to  reveal  what  had  occurred ;  and  the  three  promised 
secrecy.  Was  not  that  so  ? " 

The  man  looked  up  carelessly.  The  Englishman's  apathy 
was  no  longer  visible. 

"  Y-yes,"  he  stammered. 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  what  became  of  Count  Verdt  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  an  air  of  indifference. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  the  other. 

"  Ah  !     Of  course  you  know  the  Castel'  del  Ovo  ?  " 

"At  Naples?     Yes." 

"  You  remember  that  out  at  the  point,  beside  the  way  that 
leads  from  the  shore  to  the  fortress,  there  are  many  big  rocks, 
and  the  waves  roll  about  there.  Three  weeks  after  you  caught 
Count  Verdt  cheating  at  cards,  his  dead  body  was  found  float- 
ing there." 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  "  Brand  exclaimed,  with  his  face  grown 
pale.  And  then  he  added,  breathlessly,  "  Suicide  ?  " 

Mr.  Lind  smiled. 

"  No.     Reassure  yourself.     When  they  picked  out  the  body 
from  the  water,  they  found  the  mouth  gagged,  and  the  hands 
tied  behind  the  back." 
.  Brand  stared  at  this  man. 

"Then  you —  ?  "     He  dared  not  complete  the  question. 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  any  more  than  your- 
self. It  was  a  Camorra  affair." 

He  had  been  speaking  quite  indifferently ;  but  now  a  sin- 
gular change  came  over  his  manner. 

"And  if  I  had  had  something  to  do  with  it  ? "  he  said,  vehe- 
mently ;  and  the  dark  eyes  were  burning  with  a  quick  anger 
under  the  heavy  brows.  Then  he  spoke  more  slowly,  but  with 
a  firm  emphasis  in  his  speech.  "  I  will  tell  you  a  little  story ; 
it  will  not  detain  you,  sir.  Suppose  that  you  have  a  prison  so 
overstocked  with  political  prisoners  that  you  must  keep  sixty 
or  seventy  in  the  open  yard  adjoining  the  outer  wall.  You 
have  little  to  fear ;  they  are  harmless,  poor  wretches ;  there 
are  several  old  men — two  women.  Ah  !  but  what  are  the 
poor  devils  to  do  in  those  long  nights  that  are  so  dark  and  so 
cold?  However  they  may  huddle  together,  they  freeze;  if 
they  keep  not  moving,  they  die ;  you  find  them  dead  in  the 
morning.  If  you  are  a  Czar  you  are  glad  of  that,  for  your 
prisons  are  choked  ;  it  is  very  convenient.  And,  then  sup- 
pose you  have  a  clever  fellow  who  finds  out  a  narrow  passage 
between  the  implement-house  and  the  wall ;  and  he  savs. 


6  SUNRISE. 

1  There,  you  oan  work  all  night  at  digging  a  passage  out ;  and 
who  in  the  morning  will  suspect  ? '  Is  not  that  a  fine  discov- 
ery, when  one  must  keep  moving  in  the  dark  to  prevent  one's 
self  stiffening  into  a  corpse  ?  Oh  yes ;  then  you  find  the  poor 
devils,  in  their  madness,  begin  to  tear  the  ground  up ;  what 
tools  have  they  but  their  fingers,  when  the  implement-house  is 
locked  ?  The  poor  devils ! — old  men,  too,  and  women  ;  and 
how  they  take  their  turn  at  the  slow  work,  hour  after  hour, 
week  after  week,  all  through  the  long,  still  nights  !  Inch  by 
inch  it  is  ;  and  the  poor  devils  become  like  rabbits,  burrow- 
ing for  a  hole  to  reach  the  outer  air  ;  and  do  you  know  that, 
after  a  time,  the  first  wounds  heal,  and  your  fingers  become  like 
stumps  of  iron — " 

He  held  out  his  two  hands ;  the  ends  of  the  fingers  were 
seamed  and  corrugated,  as  if  they  had  been  violently  scalded. 
But  he  could  not  hold  them  steady — they  were  trembling  with 
the  suppressed  passion  that  made  his  whole  frame  tremble. 

"Relay  after  relay,  night  after  night,  week  after  week, 
month  after  month,  until  those  poor  devils  of  rabbits  had  ac- 
tually burrowed  a  passage  out  into  the  freedom  of  God's 
world  again.  And  some  said  the  Czar  himself  had  heard  of 
it,  and  would  not  interfere,  for  the  prisons  were  choked  ;  and 
some  said  the  wife  of  the  governor  was  Polish,  and  had  a 
kind  heart ;  but  what  did  it  matter  when  the  time  was  draw- 
ing near  ?  And  always  this  clever  fellow — do  you  know,  sir, 
his  name  was  Verdt  too? — encouraging,  helping,  goading 
these  poor  people  on.  Then  the  last  night — how  the  misera- 
ble rabbits  of  creatures  kept  huddled  together,  shivering  in 
the  dark,  till  the  hour  arrived  !  and  then  the  death-like  still- 
ness they  found  outside ;  and  the  wild  wonder  and  fear  of  it ; 
and  the  old  men-  and  the  women  crying  like  children  to  find 
themselves  in  the  free  air  again.  Marie  Falevitch — that  was 
my  sister-in-law — she  kissed  me,  and  was  laughing  when  she 
whispered,  *  Eljen  ahaza  /'  I  think  she  was  a  little  off  her 
head  with  the  long,  sleepless  nights." 

He  stopped  for  a  second ;  his  throat  seemed  choked. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  they  had  all  got  out  ? — the  poor  devils  all 
wondering  there,  and  scarcefy  knowing  where  to  go.  And 
now  suppose,  sir — ah  !  you  don't  know  anything  about  these 
things,  you  happy  English  people — suppose  you  found  the 
black  night  around  you  all  at  once  turned  to  a  blaze  of  fire — 
a  red  hell  opened  on  all  sides  of  you,  and  the  bullets  plow- 
ing your  comrades  down  ;  the  old  men  crying  for  mercy,  the 
young  ones  falling  only  with  a  groan  ;  the  women — my  God  ! 
Did  you  ever  hear  a  woman  shriek  when  she  was  struck 


A  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  7 

through  the  heart  with  a  bullet  ?  Marie  Falevitch  fell  at  my 
feet,  but  I  could  not  raise  her — I  was  struck  down  too.  It 
was  a  week  after  that  I  came  to  my  senses.  I  was  in  the  prison, 
but  the  prison  was  not  quite  so  full.  Czars  and  governors 
have  a  fine  way  of  thinning  prisons  when  they  get  too 
crowded." 

These  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  calm,  contemptuous 
way;  the  man  was  evidently  trying' hard  to  control  the  fierce 
passion  that  these  memories  had  stirred  up.  He  had  clinched 
one  hand,  and  put  it  firmly  on  the  desk  before  him,  so  that  it 
should  not  tremble. 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Brand,"  he  continued,  slowly,  "  let  us  sup- 
pose that  when  you  come  to  yourself  again,  you  hear  the  ru- 
mors that  are  about :  you  hear,  for  example,  that  Count 
Verdt — that  exceedingly  clever  man — has  been  graciously 
pardoned  by  the  Czar  for  revealing  the  villanous  conspiracy 
of  his  fellow-prisoners ;  and  that  he  has  gone  off  to  the  South 
with  a  bag  of  money.  Do  you  not  think  that  you  would  re- 
member the  name  of  that  clever  person  ?  Do  you  not  think 
you  would  say  to  yourself,  *  Well,  it  may  not  be  to-day,  or  to- 
morrow, or  the  next  day  :  but  some  day  ?  ' ' 

Again  the  dark  eyes  glowed ;  but  he  had  a  wonderful  self- 
control. 

"  You  would  remember  the  name,  would  you  not,  if  you 
had  your  sister-in-law,  and  your  only  brother,  and  six  or 
seven  of  your  old  friends  and  comrades  all  shot  on  the  one 
night  ? " 

"  This  was  the  same  Count  Verdt  ? "  Brand  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  after  a  considerable  pause.  Then 
he  added,  with  an  involuntary  sigh,  "  I  had  been  following 
his  movements  for  some  time ;  but  the  Camorra  stepped  in. 
They  are  foolish  people,  those  Camorristi — foolish  and  igno- 
rant. They  punish  for  very  trifling  offences,  and  they  do 
not  make  sufficient  warning  of  their  punishments.  Then 
they  are  quite  imbecile  in  the  way  they  attempt  to  regulate 
labor." 

He  was  now  talking  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way.  The 
clinched  hand  was  relaxed. 

"  Besides,"  continued  Ferdinand  Lind,  with  the  cool  air  of 
a  critic,  "  their  conduct  is  too  scandalous.  The  outer  world 
believes  they  are  nothing  but  an  association  of  thieves  and 
cut-throats ;  that  is  because  they  do  not  discountenance  vul- 
gar and  useless  crime  ;  because  there  is  not  enough  authority, 
nor  any  proper  selection  of  members.  In  the  affairs  of  the 
world,  one  has  sometimes  to  make  use  of  queer  agents — that 


8  SUNK/SB. 

is  admitted ;  and  you  cannot  have  any  large  body  of  people 
without  finding  a  few  scoundrels  among  them.  I  suppose 
one  might  even  say  that  about  your  very  respectable  Church 
of  England.  But  you  only  bring  a  society  into  disrepute — 
you  rob  it  of  much  usefulness — you  put  the  law  and  society 
against  it — when  you  make  it  the  refuge  of  common  murder- 
ers and  thieves." 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  remarked  George  Brand.  If  this  sus- 
pected foreigner  had  resumed  his  ordinary  manner,  so  had 
he :  he  was  again  the  haughty,  suspicious,  almost  supercil- 
ious Englishman. 

Poor  Lord  Evelyn !  The  lad  looked  quite  distressed. 
These  two  men  were  so  obviously  antipathetic  that  it  seemed 
altogether  hopeless  to  think  of  their  ever  coming  together. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  in  his  ordinary  polished  and  easy 
manner,  "I  must  not  seek  to  detain  you;  for  it  is  a  cold 
night  to  keep  horses  waiting.  But,  Mr.  Brand,  Lord  Evelyn 
dines  with  us  to-morrow  evening :  if  you  have  nothing  better 
to  do,  will  you  join  our  little  party  ?  My  daughter,  I  am  sure, 
will  be  most  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  Do,  Brand,  there's  a  good  fellow  ! "  struck  in  his  friend. 
"  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  you  for  such  a  long  time." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  indeed,"  said  the  tall  Englishman, 
wondering  whether  he  was  likely  to  meet  a  goodly  assem- 
blage of  sedition-mongers  at  this  foreign  person's  table. 
.    "  We  dine  at  a  quarter  to  eight.     The  address  is  No.  — 
Curzon  Street ;  but  perhaps  you  had  better  take  this  card." 

So  they  left,  and  were  conducted  down  the  staircase  by  the 
stout  old  German;  and  scrambled  up  into  the  furs  of  the  ba- 
rouche. 

"  So  he  has  a  daughter  ?  "  said  Brand,  as  the  two  friends 
together  drove  down  to  Buckingham  Street,  where  they  were 
to  dine  at  his  rooms. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  his  daughter  Natalie,"  said  Lord  Evelyn, 
eagerly.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  will  see  him  to-morrow  night !  " 

"  And  they  live  on  Curzon  Street,"  said  the  other,  reflect- 
ively. "  H'm  !  Conspiracy  does  pay,  then !  " 


CHAPTER    II. 

PLEADINGS. 


"  BROTHER  SENIOR  WARDEN,  your  place  in  the  lodge  ? " 
said  Mr.  Brand,  looking  at-the  small  dinner-table. 


PLEADINGS.  9 

"  You  forget,"  his  companion  said.  "  I  am  only  in  the 
nursery  as  yet — an  Illuminatus  Minor,  as  it  were.  However, 
I  don't  think  I  can  do  better  than  sit  where  Waters  has  put 
me ;  I  can  have  a  glimpse  of  the  lights  on  the  river.  But 
what  an  extraordinary  place  for  you  to  come  to  for  rooms  ! " 

They  had  driven  down  through  the  glare  of  the  great  city 
to  this  silent  and  dark  little  thoroughfare,  dismissed  the  car- 
riage at  the  foot,  climbed  up  an  old-fashioned  oak  staircase, 
and  found  themselves  at  last  received  by  an  elderly  person, 
who  looked  a  good  deal  more  like  a  bronzed  old  veteran  than 
an  ordinary  English  butler. 

"  Halloo,  Wafers !  "  said  Lord  Evelyn.  "  How  are  you  ? 
I  don't  think  I  have  seen  you  since  you  threatened  to  mur- 
der the  landlord  at  Cairo." 

"No,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Waters,  who  seemed  vastly 
pleased  by  this  reminiscence,  and  who  instantly  disappeared 
to  summon  dinner  for  the  two  young  men. 

"  Extraordinary  ?  "  said  Brand,  when  they  had  got  seated 
at  table.  "  Oh  no ;  my  constant  craving  is  for  air,  space, 
light  and  quiet.  Here  I  have  all  these.  Beneath  are  the 
Embankment  gardens ;  beyond  that,  you  see,  the  river — 
those  lights  are  the  steamers  at  anchor.  As  for  quiet,  the 
lower  floors  are  occupied  by  a  charitable  society ;  so  I  fancied 
there  would  not  be  much  traffic  on  the  stairs." 

The  jibe  passed  unheeded  ;  Lord  Evelyn  had  long  ago  be- 
come familiar  with  his  friend's  way  of  speaking  about  men 
and  things. 

"  And  so,  Evelyn,  you  have  become  a  pupil  of  the  revolu- 
tionaries," George  Brand  continued,  when  Waters  had  put 
some  things  before  them  and  retired — "  a  student  of  the  fine 
art  of  stabbing  people  unawares  ?  What  an  astute  fellow 
that  Lind  must  be — I  will  swear  it  never  occured  to  one  of 
the  lot  before — to  get  an  English  milord  into  their  ranks  ! 
A  stroke  of  genuis  !  It  could  only  have  been  projected  by  a 
great  mind.  And  then  look  at  the  effect  throughout  Europe 
if  an  English  milord  were  to  be  found  with  a  parcel  of  Orsini 
bombs  in  his  possession  !  every  ragamuffin  from  Naples  to  St. 
Petersburg  would  rejoice ;  the  army  of  cutthroats  would 
march  with  a  new  swagger." 

His  companion  said  nothing  ;  but  there  was  a  vexed  and 
impatient  look  on  his  face. 

"  And  our  little  daughter — is  she  pretty  ?  Does  she  coax 
the  young  men  to  play  with  daggers  ? — the  innocent  little 
thing  !  And  when  you  start  with  your  dynamite  to  break  open  a 
jail,  she  blows  you  a  kiss  ? — the  charming  little  fairy  !  What 


ro  SUNRISE. 

is  it  she  has  embroidered  on  the  ribbons  round  her  neck  ? — 
'  Mort  aux  rois  ? '  '  Sic  semper  tyrannis  ? '  No ;  I  saw  a  much 
prettier  one  somewhere  the  other  day :  '  Ne  si  pasce  di 
fresche  ruggiade,  ma  di  sangue  di  membra  di  re?  Isn't  it 
charming?  It  sounds  quite  idyllic,  even  in  English:  ' Not 
for  you  the  nourishment  of  freshening  dews,  but  the  blood  of  the 
limbs  of  kings  /'  The  pretty  little  stabber — is  she  fierce  ?  " 

"  Brand,  you  are  too  bad  !  "  said  the  other,  throwing  down 
his  knife  and  fork,  and  getting  up  from  the  table.  "  You  be- 
lieve in  neither  man,  woman,  God,  nor  devil !  " 

"  Would  you  mind  handing  over  that  claret  jug  ?  " 

"  Why,"  he  said,  turning  passionately  toward  him,  "  it  is 
men  like  you,  who  have  neither  faith,  nor  hope,  nor  regret, 
who  are  wandering  aimlessly  in  a  nightmare  of  apathy  and 
indolence  and  indifference,  who  ought  to  be  the  first  to  wel- 
come the  new  light  breaking  in  the  sky.  What  is  life  worth 
to  you?  You  have  nothing  to  hope  for — nothing  to  look  for- 
ward to — nothing  you  can  kill  the  aimless  with.  Why  should 
you  desire  to-morrow  ?  To-morrow  will  bring  you  nothing 
different  from  yesterday;  you  will  do  as  you  did  yesterday 
and  the  day  before  yesterday.  It  is  the  life  of  a  horse  or  an 
ox — not  the  life  of  a  human  being,  with  the  sympathies  and 
needs  and  aspirations  of  a  man.  What  is  the  object  of  living 
at  all  ?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  simply. 

But  this  pale  hump-backed  lad,  with  the  fine  nostrils,  the 
sensitive  mouth,  the  large  forehead,  and  the  beautiful  eyes, 
was  terribly  in  earnest.  He  forgot  about  his  place  at  table. 
He  kept  walking  up  and  down,  occasionally  addressing  his 
friend  directly,  at  other  times  glancing  out  at  the  dark  river 
and  the  golden  lines  of  the  lamps.  And  he  was  an  eloquent 
speaker,  too.  Debarred  from  most  forms  of  physical  exer- 
cise, he  had  been  brought  up  in  a  world  of  ideas.  When  he 
went  to  Oxford,  it  was  with  some  vague  notion  of  subse- 
quently entering  the  Church ;  but  at  Oxford  he  became 
speedily  convinced  that  there  was  no  Church  left  for  him  to 
enter.  Then  he  fell  back  on  sestheticism — worshipped  Car- 
paccio,  adored  Chopin,  and  turned  his  rooms  at  Merton  into 
a  museum  of  old  tapestry,  Roman  brass-work,  and  Venetian 
glass.  Then  he  dabbled  a  little  in  Comtism  ;  but  very  soon 
he  threw  aside  that  gigantic  make-believe  at  believing. 
Nevertheless,  whatever  was  his  whim  of  the  moment,  it  was 
for  him  no  whim  at  all,  but  a  burning  reality.  And  in  this 
enthusiasm  of  his  there  was  no  room  left  for  shyness.  In 
fact,  these  two  companions  had  been  accustomed  to  talk 


PLEADINGS,  1 1 

frankly;  they  had  long  ago  abandoned  that  self-conscious- 
ness which  ordinarily  restricts  the  conversation  of  young 
Englishmen  to  monosyllables.  Brand  was  a  good  listener 
and  his  friend  an  eager,  impetuous,  enthusiastic  speaker. 
The  one  could  even  recite  verses  to  the  other :  what  greater 
proof  of  confidence  ? 

And  on  this  occasion  all  this  prayer  of  his  was  earnest  and 
pathetic  enough.  He  begged  this  old  chum  of  his  to  throw 
aside  his  insular  prejudices  and  judge  for  himself.  What 
object  had  he  in  living  at  all,  if  life  were  merely  a  routine  of 
food  and  sleep  ?  In  this  selfish  isolation,  his  living  was  only 
a  process  of  going  to  the  grave — only  that  each  day  would 
become  more  tedious  and  burdensome  as  he  grew  older. 
Why  should  he  not  examine,  and  inquire,  and  believe — if 
that  was  possible  ?  The  world  was  perishing  for  want  of  a 
new  faith  :  the  new  faith  was  here. 

At  this  phrase  George  Brand  quickly  raised  his  head.  He 
was  accustomed  to  these  enthusiasms  of  his  friend  ;  but  he 
had  not  yet  seen  him  in  the  character  of  on  apostle. 
•  "  You  know  it  as  well  as  I,  Brand ;  the  last  great  wave  of 
religion  has  spent  itself ;  and  I  suppose  Matthew  Arnold 
would  have  us  wait  for  the  mysterious  East,  the  mother  of 
religions,  to  send  us  another.  Do  you  remember  'Ober- 
mann  ? ' — 

"  *  In  his  cool  hall,  with  haggard  eyes, 

The  Roman  noble  lay ; 
He  drove  abroad,  in  furious  guise, 
Along  the  Appian  Way ; 

" '  He  made  a  feast,  drank  fierce  and  fast, 
And  crowned  his  head  with  flowers — 
No  easier  nor  no  quicker  passed 
The  impracticable  hours. 

'• '  The  brooding  East  with  awe  beheld 

Her  impious  younger  world. 
The  Roman  tempest  swelled  and  swelled, 
And  on  her  head  was  hurled. 

«  '  The  East  bowed  low  before  the  blast, 

In  patience,  deep  disdain  ; 
She  let  the  legions  thunder  past, 
And  plunged  in  thought  again." 

The  lad  had  a  sympathetic  voice ;  and  there  was  a  curi- 
ous, pathetic  thrill  in  the  tones  of  it  as  he  went  on  to  describe 
the  result  of  that  awful  musing — the  new-born  joy  awakening 
in  the  East — the  victorious  West  veiling  her  eagles  and  snap- 


12  SUNRISE. 

ping  her  sword  before  this  strange  new  worship  of  the 
Child— 

"  And  centuries  came,  and  ran  their  course, 

And,  unspent  all  that  time, 
Still,  still  went  forth  that  Child's  dear  force, 
And  still  was  at  its  prime." 

But  now — in  these  later  days  around  us  !— 

"  Now  he  is  dead !     Far  hence  He  lies 

In  the  lorn  Syrian  town ; 
And  on  his  grave,  with  shining  eyes, 
The  Syrian  stars  look  down." 

The  great  divine  wave  had  spent  itself.  But  were  we  to  sit 
supinely  by — this  was  what  he  asked,  though  not  precisely  in 
these  consecutive  words,  for  sometimes  he  walked  to  and  fro 
in  his  eagerness,  and  sometimes  he  ate  a  bit  of  bread,  or  sat 
down  opposite  his  friend  for  the  purpose  of  better  confront- 
ing him — to  wait  for  that  distant  and  mysterious  East  to  send 
us  another  revelation  ?  Not  so.  Let  the  proud-spirited  and 
courageous  West,  that  had  learned  the  teachings  of  Chris- 
tianity but  never  yet  applied  them — let  the  powerful  West 
establish  a  faith  of  her  own :  a  faith  in  the  future  of  humanity 
itself — a  faith  in  future  of  recompense  and  atonement  to  the 
vast  multitudes  of  mankind  who  had  toiled  so  long  and  so 
grievously — a  faith  demanding  instant  action  and  endeavor 
and  self-sacrifice  from  those  who  would  be  its  first  apostles. 

"  The  complaining  millions  of  men 
Darken  in  labor  and  pain.'* 

And  why  should  not  this  Christianity,  that  had  so  long 
been  used  to  gild  the  thrones  of  kings  and  glorify  the  cer- 
emonies of  priests — that  had  so  long  been  monopolized  by 
the  rich  and  the  great  and  the  strong,  whom  its  Founder  de- 
spised and  denounced — why  should  it  not  at  length  come  to 
the  help  of  those  myriads  of  the  poor  and  the  weak  and  the 
suffering  whose  cry  for  help  had  been  for  so  many  centuries 
disregarded  ?  Here  was  work  for  the  idle,  hope  for  the  hope- 
less, a  faith  for  them  who  were  perishing  for  want  of  a  faith. 
"  You  say  all  this  is  vague — a  vision — a  sentiment  ?  "  he 
said,  talking  in  the  same  eager  way.  "  Then  that  is  my  fault. 
I  cannot  explain  it  all  to  you  in  a  few  words.  But  do  not  run 
away  with  the  notion  that  it  is  mere  words — a  St.  Simonian 
dream  of  perfectibility,  or  anything  like  that.  It  is  practical ; 


PLEADINGS.  13 

it  exists ;  it  is  within  reach  of  you.  It  is  a  definite  and  im- 
mense organization ;  it  may  be  young  as  yet,  but  it  has  cour- 
age and  splendid  aims,;  and  now,  with  a  great  work  before 
it,  it  is  eager  for  aid.  You  yourself,  when  you  see  a  child  run 
over,  or  a  woman  starving  of  hunger,  or  a  blind  man  wanting 
to  cross  a  street,  are  you  not  ready  with  your  help — the  help 
of  your  hands  or  of  your  purse  ?  Multiply  these  by  millions, 
and  think  of  the  cry  for  help  that  comes  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  If  you  but  knew,  you  could  not  resist.  I  as  yet  know 
little — I  only  hear  the  echo  of  the  cry;  but  my  veins  are 
burning ;  I  shall  have  the  gladness  of  answering  '  Yes/  how- 
ever little  I  can  do.  And  after  all,  is  not  that  something  ? 
For  a  man  to  live  only  for  himself  is  death." 

"But  you  know,  Evelyn,"  said  his  friend,  though  he  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  answer  to  all  this  outburst,  "  you  must  be 
more  cautious.  Those  benevolent  schemes  are  very  noble 
and  very  captivating  ;  but  sometimes  they  are  in  the  hands 
of  rather  queer  people.  And  besides,  do  you  quite  know 
the  limits  of  this  big  society  ?  I  thought  you  said  something 
about  vindicating  the  oppressed.  Does  it  include  politics  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  question  ;  I  am  content  to  obey,"  said  Lord 
Evelyn. 

"That  is  not  English  ;  unreasoning  and  blind  obedience  is 
mere  folly." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  other,  somewhat  absently  ;  "  but  I 
suppose  a  man  accepts  whatever  satisfies  the  craving  of  his 
own  heart.  And — and  I  should  not  like  to  go  alone  on  this 
new  thing,  Brand.  Will  you  not  come  some  little  way  with 
me  ?  If  you  think  I  am  mistaken,  you  may  turn  back ;  as 
for  me — well,  if  it  were  only  a  dream,  I  think  I  would  rather 
go  with  the  pilgrims  on  their  hopeless  quest  than  stay  with 
the  people  who  come  out  to  wonder  at  them  as  they  go  by. 
You  remember — 

'* c  Who  is  your  lady  of  love,  oh  ye  that  pass 

Singing  i    And  is  it  for  sorrow  of  that  which  was 
That  ye  sing  sadly,  or  dream  of  what  shall  be  ? 

For  gladly  at  once  and  sadly  it  seems  ye  sing. 
— Our  lady  of  love  by  you  is  unbeholden  ; 
For  hands  she  hath  none,  nor  eyes,  nor  lips,  nor  golden 
Treasure  of  hair,  nor  face  nor  form  ;  but  we 

That  love,  we  know  her  more  fair  than  anything.'  " 

Yes  ;  he  had  certainly  a  pathetic  thrill  in  his  voice  ;  but 
now  there  was  something  else — something  strange — in  the 
slow  and  monotonous  cadence  that  caught  the  acute  ear  of 


14  SCSAHtlSE. 

his  friend.     And  again  he  went  on,  but  absently,  almost  as  if 
he  were  himself  listening — 

" — Is  she  a  queen,  having  great  gifts  t'o  give  ? 
— Yea,  these ;  that  whoso  hath  seen  her  shall  not  live 
Except  he  serve  her  sorrowing,  with  strange  pain, 
Travail  and  bloodshedding  and  bitterest  tears ; 
And  when  she  bids  die  he  shall  surely  die. 
And  he  shall  leave  all  things  under  the  sky, 
And  go  forth  naked  under  sun  and  rain, 

And  work  and  wait  and  watch  out  all  his  years." 

"  Evelyn,"  said  George  Brand,  suddenly,  fixing  his  keen 
eyes  on  his  friend's  face,  "where  have  you  heard  that? 
Who  has  taught  you  ?  You  are  not  speaking  with  your  own 
voice." 

"  With  whose,  then  ?  "  and  a  smile  came  over  the  pale,  calm, 
beautiful  face,  as  if  he  had  awakened  out  of  a  dream. 

"  That,"  said  Brand,  still  regarding  him,  "  was  the  voice  of 
Natalie  Lind." 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN  A  HOUSE  IN  CURZON  STREET. 

ARMED  with  a  defiant  scepticism,  and  yet  conscious  of  an 
unusual  interest  and  expectation,  George  Brand  drove  up  to 
Curzon  Street  on  the  following  evening.  As  he  jumped  out 
of  his  hansom,  he  inadvertently  glanced  at  the  house. 

"  Conspiracy  has  not  quite  built  us  a  palace  as  yet,"  he  said 
to  himself. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  little  German  maid-servant,  as 
neat  and  round  and  rosy  as  a  Dresden  china  shepherdess, 
who  conducted  him  up-stairs  and  announced  him  at  the  draw- 
ing-room. It  was  not  a  large  room ;  but  there  was  more  of 
color  and  gilding  in  it  than  accords  with  the  severity  of  mod- 
ern English  taste ;  and  it  was  lit  irregularly  with  a  number 
of  candles,  each  with  a  little  green  or  rose-red  shade.  Mr. 
Lind  met  him  at  the  door.  As  they  shook  hands,  Brand  caught 
a  glimpse  of  another  figure  in  the  room — apparently  that  of 
a  tall  woman  dressed  all  in  cream-white,  with  a  bunch  of  scar- 
let geraniums  in  her  bosom,  and  another  in  her  raven-black 
hair. 

"  Not  the  gay  little  adventuress,  then  ?  "  was  his  instant  and 
internal  comment.  "Better  contrived  still.  The  insnireH 


IN  A  HOUSE  IN  CURZON  STREET.  15 

prophetess.  Obviously  not  the  daughter  of  this  man  at  all. 
Hired." 

But  when  Natalie  Lind  came  forward  to  receive  him.  he  was 
more  than  surprised  ;  he  was  almost  abashed.  During  a  sec- 
ond or  two  of  wonder  and  involuntary  admiration,  he  was 
startled  out  of  his  critical  attitude  altogether.  For  this  tall 
and  striking  figure  was  in  reality  that  of  a  young  girl  of  eight- 
een or  nineteen,  who  had  the  beautifully  formed  bust,  the 
slender  waist,  and  the  noble  carriage  that  even  young  Hun- 
garian girls  frequently  have.  Perhaps  the  face,  with  its  intel- 
lectual forehead  and  the  proud  and  firmly  cut  mouth,  was  a 
trifle  too  calm  and  self-reliant  for  a  young  girl  ;  but  all  the 
softness  of  expression  that  was  wanted,  all  the  gentle  and  gra- 
cious timidity  that  we  associate  with  maidenhood,  lay  in  the 
large,  and  dark,  and  lustrous  eyes.  When,  by  accident,  she 
turned  aside,  and  he  saw  the  outline  of  that  clear,  olive-com- 
plexioned  face,  only  broken  by  the  outward  curve  of  the  long 
black  lashes,  he  had  to  confess  to  himself  that,  adventuress 
or  no  adventuress,  prophetess  or  no  prophetess,  Natalie  Lind 
was  possessed  of  about  the  most  beautiful  profile  he  had  ever 
beheld,  while  she  had  the  air  and  the  bearing  of  a  queen. 

Her  father  and  he  talked  of  the  various  trifling  things  of 
the  moment ;  but  what  he  was  chiefly  thinking  of  was  the  sin- 
gular calm  and  self-possession  of  this  young  girl.  When  she 
spoke,  her  dark,  soft  eyes  regarded  him  without  fear.  Her 
manner  was  simple  and  natural  to  the  last  degree  ;  perhaps 
with  the  least  touch  added  of  maidenly  reserve.  He  was 
forced  even  to  admire  the  simplicity  of  her  dress — cream  or 
canary  white  it  was,  with  a  bit  of  white  fur  round  the  neck 
and  round  the  tight  wrists.  The  only  strong  color  was  that 
of  the  scarlet  geraniums  which  she  wore  in  her  bosom,  and  in 
the  splendid  masses  of  her  hair  ;  and  the  vertical  sharp  line 
of  scarlet  of  her  closed  fan. 

Once  only,  during  this  interval  of  waiting,  did  he  find  that 
calm  serenity  of  hers  disturbed.  He  happened  to  observe 
the  photograph  of  a  very  handsome  woman  near  him  on  the 
table.  She  told  him  she  had  had  a  parcel  of  photographs  of 
friends  of  hers  just  sent  over  from  Vienna  ;  some  of  them  very 
pretty.  She  went  to  another  table,  and  brought  over  a  hand- 
ful. He  glanced  at  them  only  a  second  or  two. 

"  I  see  they  are  mostly  from  Vienna ;  are  they  Austrian 
ladies?  "  he  asked. 

"  They  live  in  Austria,  but  they  are  not  Austrians,"  she  an- 
swered. And  then  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  scorn  about 


1 6  SUNKISE. 

the  beautiful  mouth,  "  Our  friends  and  we  don't  belong  to  the 
women-floggers ! " 

"  Natalie  !  "  her  father  said  ;  but  he  smiled  all  the  same. 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  of  my  earliest  recollections,"  she  said  : 
"  I  remember  it  very  well.  Kossuth  was  carrying  me  round 
the  room  on  his  shoulder.  I  suppose  I  had  been  listening 
to  the  talk  of  the  gentlemen  ;  for  I  said  to  him,  *  When  they 
burned  my  papa  in  effigy  at  Pesth,  why  was  I  not  allowed  to 
go  and  see  ? '  And  he  said — I  remember  the  sound  of  his 
voice  even  now — '  Little  child,  you  were  not  born  then.  But 
if  you  had  been  able  to  go,  do  you  know  what  they  would  have 
done  to  you  ?  They  would  have  flogged  you.  Do  you  not 
know  that  the  Austrians  flog  women  ?  When  you  grow  up, 
little  child,  your  papa  will  tell  you  the  story  of  Madame  von 
Maderspach.'  "  Then  she  added,  "  That  is  one  of  my  valued 
recollections,  that  when  I  was  a  child  I  was  carried  on  Kos- 
suth's  shoulders." 

"  You  have  no  similar  reminiscence  of  Gorgey,  I  suppose  ?  " 
Brand  said,  with  a  smile. 

He  had  spoken  quite  inadvertently,  without  the  slightest 
thought  in  the  world  of  wounding  her  feelings.  But  he  was 
surprised  and  shocked  by  the  extraordinary  effect  which  this 
chance  remark  produced  on  the  tall  and  beautiful  girl  stand- 
ing there  ;  for  an  instant  she  paused,  as  if  not  knowing  what 
to  say.  Then  she  said  proudly,  and  she  turned  away  as  she 
did  so, 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  there  are  some  names 
you  should  not  mention  in  the  presence  of  a  Hungarian 
woman." 

What  was  there  in  the  tone  of  the  voice  that  made  him  rap- 
idly glance  at  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  away,  pretending  to 
carry  back  the  photographs  ?  He  was  not  deceived.  Those 
large  dark  eyes  were  full  of  sudden,  indignant  tears ;  she  had  not 
turned  quite  quickly  enough  to  conceal  them. 

Of  course,  he  instantly  and  amply  apologized  for  his  igno- 
rance and  stupidity  ;  but  what  he  said  to  himself  was,  "  That 
child  is  not  acting.  She  may  be  Lind's  daughter,  after  all. 
Poor  thing  !  she  is  too  beautiful,  and  generous,  and  noble  to 
be  made  the  decoy  of  a  revolutionary  adventurer." 

At  this  moment  Lord  Evelyn  arrived,  throwing  a  quick 
glance  of  inquiry  toward  his  friend,  to  see  what  impression, 
so  far,  had  been  produced.  But  the  tall,  red-bearded 
Englishman  maintained,  as  the  diplomatists  say,  an  attitude  of, 
the  strictest  reserve.  The  keen  gray  eyes  were  respectful 


IN  A  HOUSE  IN  CURZON  STREET.  17 

attentive,  courteous — especially  when  they  were  turned  to 
Miss  Lind  ;  beyond  that,  nothing. 

Now  they  had  not  been  seated  at  the  dinner-table  more 
than  a  few  minutes  before  George  Brand  began  to  ask  him- 
self whether  it  was  really  Curzon  Street  he  was  dining  in. 
The  oddly  furnished  room  was  adorned  with  curiosities  to 
which  every  capital  in  Europe  would  seem  to  have  con- 
tributed. The  servants,  exclusively  women,  were  foreign ; 
the  table  glass  and  decorations  were  all  foreign  ;  the  unosten- 
tatious little  banquet  was  distinctly  foreign.  Why,  the  very 
bell  that  had  summoned  them  down — what  was  there  in  the 
soft  sound  of  it  that  had  reminded  him  of  something  far  away  ? 
It  was  a  haunting  sound,  and  he  kept  puzzling  over  the 
vague  association  it  seemed  to  call  up.  At  last  he  frankly 
mentioned  the  matter  to  Miss  Lind,  who  seemed  greatly 
pleased. 

"Ah,  did  you  like  the  sound  ?  "  she  said,  in  that  low  and 
harmonious  voice  of  hers.  "  The  bell  was  an  invention  of 
my  own  ;  shall  I  show  it  to  you  ?  " 

The  Dresden  shepherdess,  by  name  Anneli,  being  de- 
spatched into  the  hall,  presently  returned  with  an  object 
somewhat  resembling  in  shape  a  Cheshire  cheese,  but  round 
at  the  top,  formed  of  roughly  filed  metal  or  a  lustrous  yellow- 
gray.  Round  the  rude  square  handle  surmounting  it  was 
carelessly  twisted  a  bit  of  old  orange  silk ;  other  decoration 
there  was  none. 

"  Do  you  see  what  it  is  now  ?  "  she  said.  "  Only  one  of  the 
great  bells  the  people  use  for  the  cattle  on  the  Campagna. 
Where  did  I  get  it  ?  Oh,  you  know  the  Piazza  Montenara, 
in  Rome,  of  course  ?  There  is  a  place  there  where  they  sell 
such  things  to  the  country  people.  You  could  get  one  with- 
out difficulty,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  being  laughed  at  as  a 
mad  Englishman.  That  bit  of  embroidered  ribbon,  though,  I 
got  in  an  old  shop  in  Florence." 

Indeed,  what  struck  him  further  was,  not  only  the  foreign 
look  of  the  little  room  and  its  belongings,  but  also  the  ex- 
traordinary familiarity  with  foreign  cities  shown  by  both  Lind 
and  his  daughter.  As  the  rambling  conversation  went  on 
(the  sonorous  cattle-bell  had  been  removed  by  the  rosy- 
cheeked  Anneli),  they  appeared  to  be  just  as  much  at  home 
in  Madrid,  in  Munich,  in  Turin,  or  Genoa  as  in  London. 
And  it  was  no  vague  and  general  tourist's  knowledge  that  these 
two  cosmopolitans  showed  ;  it  was  rather  the  knowledge  of  a 
resident — an  intimate  acquaintance  with  persons,  streets, 
shops,  and  houses.  George  Brand  was  a  bit  of  a  globe-trot- 


1 8  SUNKISE. 

ter  himself,  and  was  entirely  interested  in  this  talk  about 
places  and  things  that  he  knew.  He  got  to  be  quite  at  home 
with  those  people,  whose  own  home  seemed  to  be  Europe. 
Reminiscences,  anecdotes  flowed  freely  on  ;  the  dinner  passed 
with  unconscious  rapidity.  Lord  Evelyn  was  delighted  and 
pleased  beyond  measure  to  observe  the  more  than  courteous 
attention  that  his  friend  paid  to  Natalie  Lind. 

But  all  this  while  what  mention  was  there  of  the  great  and 
wonderful  organization — a  mere  far-off  glimpse  of  which  had 
so  captured  Lord  Evelyn's  fervent  imagination  ?  Not  a 
word.  The  sceptic  who  had  come  among  them  could  find 
nothing  either  to  justify  or  allay  his  suspicions.  But  it  might 
safely  be  said  that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  his  suspicions  as 
regarded  one  of  those  two  were  dormant.  It  was  difficult  to 
associate  trickery,  and  conspiracy,  and  cowardly  stabbing, 
with  this  beautiful  young  Hungarian  girl,  whose  calm,  dark 
eyes  were  so  fearless.  It  is  true  that  she  appeared  very  proud- 
spirited, and  generous,  and  enthusiastic ;  and  you  could 
cause  her  cheek  to  pale  whenever  you  spoke  of  injury  done 
to  the  weak,  or  the  suffering,  or  the  poor.  But  that  was 
different  from  the  secret  sharpening  of  poniards. 

Once  only  was  reference  made  to  the  various  secret  as- 
sociations that  are  slowly  but  eagerly  working  under  the  ap- 
parent social  and  political  surface  of  Europe.  Some  one 
mentioned  the  Nihilists.  Thereupon  Ferdinand  Lind,  in  a 
quiet  and  matter-of-fact  way,  without  appearing  to  know  any- 
thing of  the  personnel  of  the  society,  and  certainly  without 
expressing  any  approval  of  its  aims,  took  occasion  to  speak 
of  the  extraordinary  devotion  of  those  people. 

"  There  has  been  nothing  like  it,"  said  he,  "  in  all  the 
history  of  what  men  have  done  for  a  political  cause.  You 
may  say  they  are  fanatics,  madmen,  murderers ;  that  they 
only  provoke  further  tyranny  and  oppression ;  that  their 
efforts  are  wholly  and  solely  mischievous.  It  may  be  so ; 
but  I  speak  of  the  individual  and  what  he  is  ready  to  do. 
The  sacrifice  of  their  own  life  is  taken  almost  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Each  man  knows  that  for  him  the  end  will  almost 
certainly  be  Siberia  or  a  public  execution  ;  and  he  accepts  it. 
You  will  find  young  men,  well-born,  well-educated,  who  go 
away  from  their  friends  and  their  native  place,  who  go  into  a 
remote  village,  and  offer  to  work  at  the  commonest  trade,  at 
apprentices'  wages.  They  settle  there ;  they  marry ;  they 
preach  nothing  but  the  value  of  honest  work,  and  extreme 
sobriety,  and  respect  for  superiors.  Then,  after  some  years, 
when  they  are  regarded  as  beyond  all  suspicion,  they  begin, 


IN  A  HOUSE  IN  CURZON  STREET.  ig 

cautiously  and  slowly,  to  spread  abroad  their  propaganda — 
to  teach  respect  rather  for  human  liberty,  for  justice,  for  self- 
sacrifice,  for  those  passions  that  prompt  a  nation  to  advent- 
ure everything  for  its  freedom.  Well,  you  know  the  end. 
The  man  may  be  found  out — banished  or  executed  ;  but  the 
association  remains.  The  Russians  at  this  moment  have  no 
notion  how  wide-spread  and  powerful  it  is." 

"  The  head-quarters,  are  they  in  Russia  itself  ? "  asked 
Brand,  on  the  watch  for  any  admission. 

"  Who  knows  ? "  said  the  other,  absently.  "  Perhaps  there 
are  none." 

"  None  ?  Surely  there  mus  tbe  some  power  to  say  what  is 
to  be  done,  to  enforce  obedience  ? " 

"  What  if  each  man  finds  that  in  himself  ? "  said  Lind, 
with  something  of  the  air  of  a  dreamer  coming  over  the  firm 
and  thoughtful  and  rugged  face.  "  It  may  be  a  brotherhood. 
All  associations  do  not  need  to  be  controlled  by  kings  and 
priests  and  standing  armies." 

"  And  the  end  of  all  this  devotion,  you  say  is  Siberia  or 
death  ? " 

"  For  the  man,  perhaps ;  for  his  work,  not.  It  is  not 
personal  gain  or  personal  safety  that  a  man  must  have  in 
view  if  he  goes  to  do  battle  against  the  oppression  that  has 
crushed  the  world  for  centuries  and  centuries.  Do  you  not 
remember  the  answer  given  to  the  Czar  by  Michael  Bestoujif 
when  he  was  condemned  ?  It  was  only  the  saying  of  a  peas- 
ant ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  noblest  ever  heard  in  the  world.  '  I 
have  the  power  to  pardon  you,'  said  the  Czar  to  him,  *  and  I 
would  do  so  if  I  thought  you  would  become  a  faithful  sub- 
ject.' What  was  the  answer  ?  *  Sire,'  said  Michael  Bestoujif, 
*  that  is  our  great  misfortune,  that  the  Emperor  can  do  every- 
thing, and  that  there  is  no  law.' " 

"  Ah,  the  brave  man  ! "  said  Natalie  Lind,  quickly  and 
passionately,  with  a  flash  of  pride  in  her  eyes.  "  The  brave 
man  !  If  I  had  a  brother,  I  would  ask  him,  4  When  will  you 
show  the  courage  of  Michael  Bestoujif  ? ' ' 

Lord  Evelyn  glanced  at  her  with  a  strange,  admiring, 
proud  look.  "  If  she  had  a  brother  ! "  What  else,  even 
with  all  his  admiration  and  affection  for  her,  could  he  hope 
to  be? 

Presently  they  wandered  back  into  other  and  lighter 
subjects ;  and  Brand,  at  least,  did  not  notice  how  the  time 
was  flying.  When  Natalie  Lind  rose,  and  asked  her  father 
whether  he  would  have  coffee  sent  into  the  smoking-room,  or 
have  tea  in  the  drawing-room,  Brand  was  quite  astonished 


2©  SUNRISE. 

and  disappointed  to  find  it  so  late.  He  proposed  they 
should  at  once  go  up  to  the  drawing-room ;  and  this  was 
done. 

They  had  been  speaking  of  musical  instruments  at  dinner ; 
and  their  host  now  brought  them  some  venerable  lutes  to 
examine — curiosities  only,  for  most  of  the  metal  strings  were 
broken.  Beautiful  objects,  however,  they  were,  in  inlaid 
ivory  or  tortoise-shell  and  ebony ;  made,  as  the  various  in- 
scriptions revealed,  at  Bologna,  or  Padua,  or  Venice  ;  and 
dating,  some  of  them,  as  far  back  as  1474.  But  in  the  midst 
of  all  this,  Brand  espied  another  instrument  on  one  of  the 
small  tables. 

"  Miss  Lind,"  said  he,  with  some  surprise,  "  do  you  play 
the  zither  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  Natalie  will  play  you  something,"  her  father  said, 
carelessly ;  and  forthwith  the  girl  sat  down  to  the  small 
table. 

George  Brand  retired  into  a  corner  of  the  room.  He  was 
passionately  fond  of  zither  music.  He  thought  no  more 
about  that  examination  of  the  lutes. 

"  Do  you  know  one  who  can  play  the  zither  well  ?  "  says  the 
proverb.  "  If  so,  rejoice,  for  there  are  not  two  in  the  world" 
However  that  might  be,  Natalie  Lind  could  play  the  zither, 
as  one  eager  listener  soon  discovered.  He,  in  that  far  cor- 
ner, could  only  see  the  profile  of  the  girl  (just  touched  with  a 
faint  red  from  the  shade  of  the  nearest  candle,  as  she  leaned 
over  the  instrument),  and  the  shapely  wrists  and  fingers  as 
they  moved  on  the  metallic  strings.  But  was  that  what  he 
really  did  see  when  the  first  low  tremulous  notes  struck  the 
prelude  to  one  of  the  old  pathetic  Volkslieder  that  many  a 
time  he  had  heard  in  the  morning,  when  the  fresh  wind  blew 
in  from  the  pines  ;  that  many  a  time  he  had  heard  in  the 
evening,  when  the  little  blue-eyed  Kathchen  and  her  mother 
sung  together  as  they  sat  and  knitted  on  the  bench  in  front 
of  the  inn  ?  Suddenly  the  air  changes.  What  is  this  louder 
tramp  ?  Is  it  not  the  joyous  chorus  of  the  home-returning 
huntsmen  ;  the  lads  with  the  slain  roedeer  slung  round  their 
necks ;  that  stalwart  Bavarian  keeper  hauling  at  his  mighty 
black  hound  ;  old  father  Keinitz,  with  his  three  beagles  and 
his  ancient  breech-loader,  hurrying  forward  to  get  the  first 
cool,  vast,  splendid  bath  of  the  clear,  white  wine  ?  How  the 
young  fellows  come  swinging  along  through  the  dust,  their 
faces  ablaze  against  the  sunset !  Listen  to  the  far,  hoarse 
chorus ! — 


IN  A  HOUSE  IN  CURZON  STREET.  21 

"  Dann  kehr'  ich  von  der  Haide, 
Zur  hauslich  stillen  Freude, 
Ein  frommer  Jagersmann  ! 
Ein  frommer  Jagersmann  ! 
Halli,  hallo  !  halli,  hallo  I 

Ein  frommer  Jagersmann  !  "  | 

White  wine  now,  and  likewise  the  richer  red  ! — for  there  is 
a  great  hand-shaking  because  of  the  Mr.  Englishman's  good 
fortune  in  having  shot  three  bucks  ;  and  the  little  Kathchen's 
eyes  grow  full,  because  they  have  brought  home  a  gentle  - 
faced  hind,  likewise  cruelly  slain.  .  And  Kathchen's  mother 
has  whisked  inside,  and  here  are  the  tall  schoppen  on  the 
table ;  and  speedily  the  long,  low  room  is  filled  with  the  to- 
bacco-smoke. What !  another  song,  you  thirsty  old  Keinitz, 
with  the  quavering  voice  ?  But  there  is  a  lusty  chorus  to 
that  too ;  and  a  great  clinking  of  glasses  ;  and  the  English- 
man laughs  and  does  his  part  too,  and  he  has  called  for  six 
more  schoppen  of  red.  .  .  .  But  hush,  now  !  Have  we 
come  out  from  the  din  and  the  smoke  to  the  cool  evening 
air?  What  is  that  one  hears  afar  in  the  garden .?  Surely  it 
is  the  little  Kathchen  and  her  mother  singing  together,  in 
beautiful  harmony,  the  old,  familiar,  tender  Lorelei !  The 
zither  is  a  strange  instrument — it  speaks.  And  when  Natalie 
Lind,  coming  to  this  air,  sung  in  a  low  contralto  voice  an  only 
half-suggested  second,  it  seemed  to  those  in  the  room  that 
two  women  were  singing — the  one  with  a  voice  low  and  rich 
and  penetrating,  the  other  voice  clear  and  sweet  like  the  sing- 
ing of  a  young  girl.  "  Die  Luft  ist  kuhl  und  es  dunkelt,  und 
ruhig fliesset der Rhein"  Was  it,  indeed,  Kathchen  and  her 
mother  ?  Were  they  far  away  in  the  beautiful  pine-land, 
with  the  quiet  evening  shining  red  over  the  green  woods,  and 
darkness  coming  over  the  pale  streams  in  the  hollows  ? 
When  Natalie  Lind  ceased,  the  elder  of  the  two  guests  mur- 
mured to  himself,  "  Wonderful !  wonderful !  "  The  other  did 
not  speak  at  all. 

She  rested  her  hands  for  a  moment  on  the  table. 

"  Natalushka,"  said  her  father,  "  is  that  all  ? " 

"  I  will  not  be  called  Natalushka,  papa,"  said  she  ;  but 
again  she  bent  her  hands  over  the  silver  strings. 

And  these  brighter  and  gayer  airs  now — surely  they  are 
from  the  laughing  and  light-hearted  South  ?  Have  we  not 
heard  them  under  the  cool  shade  of  the  olive-trees,  with  the 
hot  sun  blazing  on  the  garden-paths  of  the  Villa  Reale ;  and 
the  children  playing ;  and  the  band  busy  with  its  dancing 
canzoni,  the  £ay  notes  drowning  the  murmur  and  plash  of  the 


2*  SU2WISE. 

fountains  near  ?  Look  now  ! — far  beneath  the  gray  shadow 
of  the  olive-trees — the  deep  blue  band  of  the  sea ;  and  there 
the  double-sailed  barca,  like  a  yellow  butterfly  hovering  on 
the  water ;  and  there  the  large  martingallo,  bound  for  the 
cloud-like  island  on  the  horizon.  Are  they  singing,  then,  as 
they  speed  over  the  glancing  waves  ?  .  .  .  .  "  O  doke  Na- 
poli !  O  suol  beato  /"  .  .  .  .  for  what  can  they  sing  at  all, 
as  they  leave  us,  if  they  do  not  sing  the  pretty,  tender,  tink- 
ling "  Santa  Lucia  ? " 

"  Venite  all'  agile 
Barchetta  mia  ! 
Santa  Lucia ! 
Santa  Lucia ! " 

.  .  .  .The  notes  grow  fainter  and  fainter.  Are  the  tall 
maidens  of  Capri  already  looking  out  for  the  swarthy  sailors, 

that  these  turn  no  longer  to  the  shores  they  are  leaving  ? 

"O  dolce  Napoli !  O  suol beato  /".  .  .  .  Fainter  and  fainter 
grow  the  notes  on  the  trembling  string,  so  that  you  can  scarely 
tell  them  from  the  cool  plashing  of  the  fountains.  ..."  Santa 
Lucia  J .  .  .  .  Santa  Lucia !".  .  .  . 

"  Natalushka,"  said  her  father,  laughing,  "  you  must  take 
us  to  Venice  now." 

The  young  Hungarian  girl  rose,  and  put  the  zither  aside. 

"  It  is  an  amusement  for  the  children,"  she  said. 

She  went  to  the  piano,  which  was  open,  and  took  down  a 
piece  of  music — it  was  Kucken's  "  Maid  of  Judah."  Now, 
hitherto,  George  Brand  had  only  heard  her  murmur  a  low, 
harmonious  second  to  one  or  other  of  the  airs  she  had  been 
playing ;  and  he  was  quite  unprepared  for  the  passion  and  fer- 
vor which  her  rich,  deep,  resonant,  contralto  voice  threw  into 
this  wail  of  indignation  and  despair.  This  was  the  voice  of  a 
woman,  not  of  a  girl ;  and  it  was  with  the  proud  passion  of  a 
woman  that  she  seemed  to  send  this  cry  to  Heaven  for  repar- 
ation, and  justice,  and  revenge.  And  surely  it  was  not  only 
of  the  sorrows  of  the  land  of  Judah  she  was  thinking ! — it  was 
a  wider  cry — the  cry  of  the  oppressed,  and  the  suffering,  and 
the  heart-broken  in  every  clime — 

"  O  blest  native  land !  O  fatherland  mine  ! 
How  long  for  thy  refuge  in  vain  shall  I  pine  ? " 

He  could  have  believed  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  just  then  ; 
but  there  were  none,  he  knew,  when  she  came  to  the  fierce 
piteous  appeal  that  followed — 


A  STRANGER.  23 

"  Where,  where  are  thy  proud  sons,  so  lordly  in  might  ? 
All  mown  down  and  fallen  in  blood-welling  fight ! 
Thy  cities  are  ruin,  thy  valleys  lie  waste, 
Their  summer  enchantment  the  foe  hath  erased. 
O  blest  native  land !  how  long  shalt  decline  ? 
When,  when  will  the  Lord  cry,  «  Revenge,  it  is  Mine  ! '  " 

The  zither  speaks  ;  but  there  is  a  speech  beyond  that  of  the 
zither.  The  penetrating  vibration  of  this  rich  and  pathetic 
voice  was  a  thing  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  When  the  two 
friends  left  the  house,  they  found  themselves  in  the  chill 
darkness  of  an  English  night  in  February.  Surely  it  must 
have  seemed  to  them  that  they  had  been  dwelling  for  a  period 
in  warmer  climes,  with  gay  colors,  and  warmth,  and  sweet 
sounds  around  them.  They  walked  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  at  last,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
them  ? " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause.  "I  am 
puzzled.  How  did  you  come  to  know  them  ? " 

"  I  came  to  know  Lind  through  a  newspaper  reporter  called 
O'Halloran.  I  should  like  to  introduce  you  to  him  too." 

George  Brand  soon  afterward  parted  from  his  friend,  and 
walked  away  down  to  his  silent  rooms  over  the  river.  The 
streets  were  dark  and  deserted,  and  the  air  was  still ;  yet 
there  seemed  somehow  to  be  a  tremulous,  passionate,  distant 
sound  in  the  night.  It  was  no  tinkling  "  Santa  Lucia  "  dying 
away  over  the  blue  seas  in  the  south.  It  was  no  dull,  sonor- 
ous 'bell,  suggesting  memories  of  the  far  Campagna.  Was  it 
not  rather  the  quick,  responsive  echo  that  had  involuntarily 
arisen  in  his  own  heart,  when  he  heard  Natalie  Lind's  thrill- 
ing voice  pour  forth  that  proud  and  indignant  appeal, 

"  When,  when  will  the  Lord  cry,  '  Revenge,  it  is  Mine  I ' " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   STRANGER. 

FERDINAND  LIND  was  in  his  study,  busy  with  his  morning 
letters.  It  was  a  nondescript  little  den,  which  he  also  used 
as  library  and  smoking-room  ;  its  chief  feature  being  a  col- 
lection of  portraits — a  most  heterogeneous  assortment  of  en- 
gravings, photographs,  woodcuts,  and  terra-cotta  busts.  Wher- 
ever the  book-shelves  ceased,  these  began  ;  and  as  there  were 


24  SUNKISE. 

a  great  number  of  them,  and  as  the  room  was  small,  Mr.  Lind's 
friends  or  historical  heroes  sometimes  came  into  odd  juxta- 
position. In  any  case,  they  formed  a  strange  assemblage — 
Arndt  and  Korner ;  Stein  ;  Silvio  Pellico  and  Karl  Sand 
cheek  by  jowl ;  Festal,  Comte,  Cromwell,  Garibaldi,  Marx, 
Mazzini,  Bern,  Kossuth,  Lassalle,  and  many  another  writer 
and  fighter.  A  fine  engraving  of  Napoleon  as  First  Consul 
was  hung  over  the  mantel-piece,  a  pipe-rack  intervening  be- 
tween it  and  a  fac-simile  of  the  warrant  for  the  execution  of 
Charles  I. 

Something  in  his  correspondence  had  obviously  annoyed 
the  occupant  of  this  little  study.  His  brows  were  bent  down, 
and  he  kept  his  foot  nervously  and  impatiently  tapping  on  the 
floor.  When  some  one  knocked,  he  said,  "  Come  in  !  "  al- 
most angrily,  though  he  must  have  known  who  was  his 
visitor. 

"  Good-morning,  papa  !  "  said  the  tall  Hungarian  girl,  com- 
ing into  the  room  with  a  light  step  and  a  smile  of  welcome  on 
her  face. 

"  Good-morning,  Natalie  ! "  said  he,  without  looking  up. 
"  I  am  busy  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  but,  papa,"  said  she,  going  over,  and  stooping  down 
and  kissing  him,  "  you  must  let  me  come  and  thank  you  for 
the  flowers.  They  are  more  beautiful  than  ever  this  time." 

"  What  flowers  ?  "  said  he,  impatiently. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  with  a  look  of  astonishment,  "  have  you 
forgotten  already  ?  The  flowers  you  always  send  for  my 
birthday  morning." 

But  instantly  she  changed  her  tone. 

"  Ah  !  I  see.  Good  little  children  must  not  ask  where  the 
fairy  gifts  come  from.  There,  I  will  not  disturb  you,  papa." 

She  touched  his  shoulder  caressingly  as  she  passed. 

"  But  thank  you  again,  papa  Santa  Claus." 

At  breakfast,  Ferdinand  Lind  seemed  to  have  entirely  re- 
covered his  good-humor. 

"  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment  it  was  your  birthday,  Nata- 
lie," said  he.  "  You  are  quite  a  grown  woman  now." 

Nothing,  however,  was  said  about  the  flowers,  though  the 
beautiful  basket  stood  on  a  side-table,  filling  the  room  with 
its  perfume.  After  breakfast,  Mr.  Lind  left  for  his  office,  his 
daughter  setting  about  her  domestic  duties. 

At  twelve  o'clock  she  was  ready  to  go  out  for  her  accus- 
tomed morning  walk.  The  pretty  little  Anneli,  her  compan- 
ion on  these  excursions,  was  also  ready ;  and  together  they 
set  forth.  They  chatted  frankly  together  in  German — the 


A  STRANGER.  25 

ordinary  relations  between  mistress  and  servant  never  having 
been  properly  established  in  this  case.  For  one  thing,  they 
had  been  left  to  depend  on  each  other's  society  during  many 
a  long  evening  in  foreign  towns,  when  Mr.  Lind  was  away  on 
his  own  business.  For  another,  Natalie  Lind  had,  somehow 
or  other,  and  quite  unaided,  arrived  at  the  daring  conclusion 
that  servants  were  human  beings  ;  and  she  had  been  taught 
to  regard  human  beings  as  her  brothers  and  sisters,  some 
more  fortunate  than  others,  no  doubt,  but  the  least  fortunate 
having  the  greatest  claim  on  her. 

"  Fraulein,"  said  the  little  Saxon  maid,  "  it  was  I  myself 
who  took  in  the  beautiful  flowers  that  came  for  you  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Yes?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  and  I  thought  it  was  very  strange  for  a  lady 
to  be  out  so  early  in  the  morning." 

"  A  lady !  "  said  Natalie  Lind,  with  a  quick  surprise.  "  Not 
dressed  all  in  black  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  she  was  dressed  all  in  black." 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.  Then  she  said, 
with  a  smile, 

"  It  is  not  right  for  my  father  to  send  me  a  black  messen- 
ger on  my  birthday — it  is  not  a  good  omen.  And  it  was  the 
same  last  year  when  we  were  in  Paris;  the  concierge  told  me. 
Birthday  gifts  should  come  with  a  white  fairy,  you  know, 
Anneli — all  silver  and  bells." 

"  Fraulein,"  said  the  little  German  girl,  gravely,  "  I  do  not 
think  the  lady  who  came  this  morning  would  bring  you  any  ill 
fortune,  for  she  spoke  with  such  gentleness  when  she  asked 
about  you." 

"  When  she  asked  about  me  ?  What  was  she  like,  then, 
this  black  messenger  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  see,  Fraulein  ? — her  veil  was  so  thick.  But 
her  hair  was  gray ;  I  could  see  that.  And  she  had  a  beauti- 
ful figure — not  quite  as  tall  as  you,  Fraulein  ;  I  watched  her 
as  she  went  away." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  safe,  Anneli,  to  watch  the  people 
whom  Santa  Glaus  sends,"  the  young  mistress  said,  lightly. 
"  However,  you  have  not  told  me  what  the  strange  lady  said 
to  you." 

"  That  will  I  now  tell  you,  Fraulein,"  said  the  other,  with 
an  air  of  importance.  "  Well,  when  I  heard  the  knock  at  the 
door,  I  went  instantly ;  I  thought  it  was  strange  to  hear  a 
knock  so  early,  instead  of  the  bell.  Then  there  was  the  lady ; 
and  she  did  not  ask  who  lived  there,  but  she  said,  '  Miss  Lind 


26  SUNJtISE. 

is  not  up  yet  ?  But  then,  Fraulein,  you  must  understand, 
she  did  not  speak  like  that,  for  it  was  in  English,  and  she  spoke 
very  slowly,  as  if  it  was  with  difficulty.  I  would  have  said, 
'  Will  the  gnadige  Frau  be  pleased  to  speak  German  ? '  but  I 
was  afraid  it  might  be  impertinent  for  a  maid-servant  to  ad- 
dress a  lady  so.  Besides,  Fraulein,  she  might  have  been  a 
French  lady,  and  not  able  to  understand  our  German." 

"  Quite  so,  Anneli.     Well  ? " 

"Then  I  told  her  I  believed  you  were  still  in  your  room. 
Then  she  said,  still  speaking  very  slowly,  as  if  it  was  all 
learned,  'Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  put  those  flowers  just  out- 
side her  room,  so  that  she  will  get  them  when  she  comes  out  ? ' 
And  I  said  I  would  do  that.  Then  she  said,  '  I  hope  Miss 
Lind  is  very  well ; '  and  I  said,  '  Oh  yes.'  She  stood  for  a 
moment  just  then,  Fraulein,  as  if  not  knowing  whether  to  go 
away  or  not ;  and  then  she  asked  again  if  you  were  quite  well 
and  strong  and  cheerful,  and  again  I  said,  *  Oh  yes ; '  and  no 
sooner  had  I  said  that  than  she  put  something  into  my  hand 
and  went  away.  Would  you  believe  it,  Fraulein  ?  it  was  a 
sovereign — an  English  golden  sovereign.  And  so  I  ran  after 
her  and  said,  *  Lady,  this  is  a  mistake,'  and  I  offered  her  the 
sovereign.  That  was  right,  was  it  not,  Fraulein  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  she  did  not  speak  to  me  at  all  this  time.  I  think  the 
poor  lady  has  less  English  even  than  I  myself ;  but  she  closed 
my  hand  over  the  sovereign,  and  then  patted  me  on  the  arm, 
and  went  away.  It  was  then  that  I  looked  after  her.  I  said 
to  myself,  *  Well,  there  is  only  one  lady  that  I  know  who  has 
a  more  beautiful  figure  than  that — that  is  my  mistress.'  But 
she  was  not  so  tall  as  you,  Fraulein." 

Natalie  Lind  paid  no  attention  to  this  adroit  piece  of  flat- 
tery on  the  part  of  her  little  Saxon  maid. 

"  It  is  very  extraordinary,  Anneli,"  she  said,  after  awhile  ; 
then  she  added,  "  I  hope  the  piece  of  gold  you  have  will  not 
turn  to  dust  and  ashes." 

"  Look  at  it,  Fraulein,"  said  Anneli,  taking  out  her  purse 
and  producing  a  sound  and  solid  English  coin,  about  which 
there  appeared  to  be  no  clemonology  or  witchcraft  whatsoever. 

They  had  by  this  time  got  into  Park  Lane  ;  and  here  the 
young  mistress's  speculations  about  the  mysterious  messenger 
of  Santa  Claus  were  suddenly  cut  short  by  something  more 
immediate  and  more  practical.  There  was  a  small  boy  of 
about  ten  engaged  in  pulling  a  wheelbarrow  which  was  heav- 
ily laden  with  large  baskets — probably  containing  washing ; 
and  he  was  toiling  manfully  with  a  somewhat  hopeless  task. 


A  STRANGER,  27 

How  he  had  got  so  far  it  was  impossible  to  say ;  but  now 
that  his  strength  was  exhausted,  he  was  trying  all  sorts  of  in- 
effectual dodges — even  tilting  up  the  barrow  and  endeavor- 
ing to  haul  it  by  the  legs — to  get  the  thing  along. 

**  If  I  were  a  man,"  said  Natalie  Lind,  "I  would  help  that 
boy." 

Then  she  stepped  from  the  pavement. 

"  Little  boy,"  she  said,  "  where  are  you  taking  that  bar- 
row ? " 

The  London  gamin,  always  on  the  watch  for  sarcasm,  stopped 
and  stared  at  her.  Then  he  took  off  his  cap  and  wiped 
his  forehead  ;  it  was  warm  work,  though  this  was  a  chill  Feb- 
ruary morning.  Finally  he  said, 

"  Well,  I'm  agoin'  to  Warrington  Crescent,  Maida  Vale. 
But  if  it's  when  I  am  likely  to  git  there — bust  me  if  I  know." 

She  looked  about.  There  was  a  good,  sturdy  specimen  of 
the  London  loafer  over  at  the  park  railings,  with  both  hands 
up  at  his  mouth,  trying  to  light  his  pipe.  She  went  across  to 
him. 

"  I  will  give  you  half  a  crown  if  you  will  pull  that  barrow 
to  Warrington  Crescent,  Maida  Vale."  There  was  no  hesi- 
tation in  her  manner ;  she  looked  the  loafer  fair  in  the  face. 

He  instantly  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  made  some 
slouching  attempt  .at  touching  his  cap. 

"Thank  ye,  miss.  Thank  ye  kindly  " — and  away  the  bar- 
row went,  with  the  small  boy  manfully  pushing  behind. 

The  tall,  black-eyed  Hungarian  girl  and  her  rosy-cheeked 
attendant  now  turned  into  the  Park.  There  were  a  good 
many  people  riding  by — fathers  with  their  daughters,  elderly 
gentlemen  very  correctly  dressed,  smart  young  men  with  a 
little  tawny  mustache,  clear  blue  eyes,  and  square  shoulders. 

"  Many  of  those  Englishmen  are  very  handsome,"  said  the 
young  mistress,  by  chance. 

"  Not  like  the  Austrians,  Fraulein,"  said  Anneli. 

"  The  Austrians  ?  What  do  you  know  about  the  Aus- 
trians ? "  said  the  other,  sharply. 

"  When  my  uncle  was  ill  at  Prague,  Fraulein,"  the  girl  said, 
"  my  mother  took  me  there  to  see  him.  We  used  to  go  out 
to  the  river,  and  go  half-way  over  the  tall  bridge,  and  then 
down  to  the  4  Sofien-Insel.'  Ah,  the  beautiful  place  ! — with 
the  music,  and  the  walks  under  the  trees ;  and  there  we  used 
to  see  the  Austrian  officers.  These  were  handsome,  with 
there  beautiful  uniforms,  and  waists  like  a  girl ;  and  the  beau- 
tiful gloves  they  wore,  too  ! — even  when  they  were  smoking 
cigarettes." 


28  SUNRISE. 

Natalie  Lind  was  apparently  thinking  of  other  things.  She 
neither  rebuked  nor  approved  Anneli's  speech  ;  though  it  was 
hard  that  the  little  Saxon  maid  should  have  preferred  to  the 
sturdy,  white-haired,  fair-skinned  warriors  of  her  native  land 
the  elegant  young  gentlemen  of  Francis  Joseph's  army. 

"They  are  handsome,  those  Englishmen,"  Natalie  Lind 
was  saying,  almost  to  herself,  "  and  very  rich  and  brave  ;  but 
they  have  no  sympathy.  All  their  fighting  for  their  liberty  is 
over  and  gone ;  they  cannot  believe  there  is  any  oppression 
now  anywhere  ;  and  they  think  that  those  who  wish  to  help 
the  sufferers  of  the  world  are  only  discontented  and  fanatic 
— a  trouble — an  annoyance.  And  they  are  hard  with  the 
poor  people  and  the  weak ;  they  think  it  is  wrong — that  you 
have  done  wrong — if  you  are  not  well  off  and  strong  like  them- 
selves. I  wonder  if  that  was  really  an  English  lady  who  wrote 
the  '  Cry  of  the  Children.'  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Fraulein." 

"  Nothing,  Anneli.  I  was  wondering  why  so  rich  a  nation 
as  the  English  should  have  so  many  poor  people  among  them 
— and  such  miserable  poor  people ;  there  is  nothing  like  it  in 
the  world." 

They  were  walking  along  the  broad  road  leading  to  the  Mar- 
ble Arch,  between  the  leafless  trees.  Suddenly  the  little 
Saxon  girl  exclaimed,  in  an  excited  whisper, 

"Fraulein!     Fraulein!" 

"  What  is  it,  Anneli  ?  " 

"  The  lady — the  lady  who  came  with  the  flowers — she  is  be- 
hind us.  Yes;  I  am  sure." 

The  girl's  mistress  glanced  quickly  round.  Some  distance 
behind  them  there  was  certainly  a  lady  dressed  altogether  in 
black,  who,  the  moment  she  perceived  that  these  two  were  re- 
garding her,  turned  aside,  and  pretended  to  pick  up  some- 
thing from  the  grass. 

"Fraulein,  Fraulein,"  said  Anneli,  eagerly;  "let  us  sit 
down  on  this  seat.  Do  not  look  at  her.  She  will  pass." 

The  sudden  presence  of  this  stranger,  about  whom  she  had 
been  thinking  so  much,  had  somewhat  unnerved  her ;  she 
obeyed  this  suggestion  almost  mechanically ;  and  waited  with 
her  heart  throbbing.  For  an  instant  or  two  it  seemed  as  if 
that  dark  figure  along  by  the  trees  were  inclined  to  turn  and 
leave ;  but  presently  Natalie  Lind  knew  rather  than  saw  that 
this  slender  and  graceful  woman  with  the  black  dress  and  the 
deep  veil  was  approaching  her.  She  came  nearer;  for  a 
second  she  came  closer ;  some  little  white  thing  was  dropped 
into  the  girl's  lap,  and  the  stranger  passed  quickly  on. 


PIONEERS.  29 

"Anneli,  Anneli,"  the  young  mistress teaid,  "the  lady  has 
dropped  her  locket !  Run  with  it — quick  !  " 

"  No,  Fraulein,"  said  the  other,  quite  as  breathlessly,  "  she 
meant  it  for  you.  Oh,  look,  Fraulein  ! — look  at  the  poor  lady 
— she  is  crying." 

The  sharp  eyes  of  the  younger  girl  were  right.  Surely  that 
slender  figure  was  being  shaken  with  sobs  as  it  hurried  away 
and  was  lost  among  the  groups  coining  through  the  Marble 
Arch !  Natalie  Lind  sat  there  as  one  stupefied — breathless, 
silent,  trembling.  She  Jiad  not  looked  at  the  locket  at  all. 

"  Anneli,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  was  that  the  same  lady  ? 
Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Certain,  Fraulein,"  said  her  companion,  eagerly. 

"  She  must  be  very  unhappy,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  think,  too, 
she  was  crying." 

Then  she  looked  at  the  trinket  that  the  stranger  had 
dropped  into  her  lap.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  silver  locket 
formed  in  the  shape  of  a  heart,  and  ornamented  with  the  most 
delicate  filagree  work  ;  in  the  centre  of  it  was  the  letter  N  in 
old  German  text.  When  Natalie  Lind  opened  it,  she  found 
inside  only  a  small  piece  of  paper,  on  which  was  written,  in 
foreign-looking  characters,  "From  Natalie  to  Natal ushka" 

"  Anneli,  she  knows  my  name  !  "  the  girl  exclaimed. 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  speak  to  the  poor  lady,  Fraulien  ?  " 
said  the  little  German  maid,  who  was  very  much  excited,  too. 
"  And  do  you  not  think  she  is  sure  to  come  this  way  again — to 
morrow,  next  day,  some  other  day  ?  Perhaps  she  is  ill  or  suf- 
fering, or  she  may  have  lost  some  one  whom  you  resemble — 
how  can  one  tell  ?  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

PIONEERS. 

BEFORE  sitting  down  to  breakfast,  on  this  dim  and  dreary 
morning  in  February,  George  Brand  went  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows of  his  sitting-room  and  looked  abroad  on  the  busy  world 
without.  Busy  indeed  it  seemed  to  be — the  steamers  hurry- 
ing up  and  down  the  river,  hansoms  whirling  along  the  Em- 
bankment, heavily  laden  omnibuses  chasing  each  other  across 
Waterloo  Bridge,  the  underground  railway  from  time  to  time 
rumbling  beneath  those  wintry-looking  gardens,  and  always 
and  everywhere  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  a  great  city.  In  the 
midst  of  all  this  eager  activity,  he  was  only  a  spectator.  Busv 


3o 

enough  the  world  around  him  seemed  to  be  ;  he  alone  was 
idle. 

Well,  what  had  he  to  look  forward  to  on  this  dull  day,  when 
once  he  had  finished  his  breakfast  and  his  newspapers  ?  It 
had  already  begun  to  drizzle  ;  there  was  to  be  no  saunter  up 
to  the  park.  He  would  stroll  along  to  his  club,  and  say  "  Good 
morning  "  to  one  or  two  acquaintances.  Perhaps  he  would 
glance  at  some  more  newspapers.  Perhaps,  tired  of  reading 
news  that  did  not  interest,  and  forming  opinions  never  to  be 
translated  into  action,  he  would  take  refuge  in  the  library. 
Somehow,  anyhow,  he  would  desperately  tide  over  the  morn- 
ing till  lunch-time. 

Luncheon  would  be  a  break  ;  but  after ?  Fie  had  not 

been  long  enough  in  England  to  become  familiar  with  the 
whist-set ;  similarly,  he  had  been  too  long  abroad  to  be  pro- 
ficient in  English  billiards,  even  if  he  had  been  willing  to 
make  either  whist  or  pool  the  pursuit  of  his  life.  As  for  af- 
ternoon calls  and  tea-drinking,  that  may  be  an  interesting  oc- 
cupation for  young  gentlemen  in  search  of  a  wife,  but  it  is 
too  ghastly  a  business  for  one  who  has  no  such  views.  What 
then  ?  More  newspapers  ?  More  tedious  lounging  in  the 
hushed  library  ?  Or  how  were  the  "  impracticable  hours  "  to 
be  disposed  of  before  came  night  and  sleep  ? 

George  Brand  did  not  stay  to  consider  that,  when  a  man 
in  the  prime  of  health  and  vigor,  possessed  of  an  ample  for- 
tune, unfettered  by  anybody's  will  but  his  own,  and  burdened 
by  neither  remorse  nor  regret,-  nevertheless  begins  to  find  life 
a  thing  too  tedious  to  be  borne,  there  must  be  a  cause  for  it. 
On  the  contrary,  instead  of  asking  himself  any  questions,  he 
set  about  getting  through  the  daily  programme  with  an  Eng- 
lishman's determination  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst.  He 
walked  up  to  his  club,  the  Waldegrave,  in  Pall  Mall.  In  the 
morning-room  there  were  only  two  or  three  old  gentlemen, 
seated  in  easy-chairs  near  the  fire,  and  grumbling  in  a  loud 
voice — for  apparently  one  or  two  were  rather  deaf — about 
the  weather.  Brand  glanced  at  a  few  more  newspapers. 
Then  a  happy  idea  occurred  to  him  ;  he  would  go  up  to  the 
smoking-room  and  smoke  a  cigarette. 

In  this  vast  hall  of  a  place  there  were  only  two  persons — 
one  standing  with  his  back  io  the  fire,  the  other  lying  back 
in  an  easy-chair.  The  one  was  a  florid,  elderly  gentleman, 
who  was  first  cousin  to  a  junior  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  and 
therefore  claimed  to  be  a  profound  authority  on  politics,  home 
and  foreign.  He  was  a  harmless  poor  clevil  enough,  from 
whom  a  merciful  Providence  had  concealed  the  fact  that  his 


PIONEERS.  31 

brain-power  was  of  the  smallest.  His  companion,  reclining 
in  the  easy-chair,  was  a  youthful  Fine  Art  Professor  ;  a  gela- 
tinous creature,  a  bundle  of  languid  affectations,  with  the  ad- 
ded and  fluttering  self-consciousness  of  a  school-miss.  He 
was  absently  assenting  to  the  propositions  of  the  florid  gen- 
tleman ;  but  it  is  probable  that  his  soul  was  elsewhere. 

These  propositions  were  to  the  effect  that  leading  articles 
in  a  newspaper  were  a  mere  impertinence  ;  that  he  himself 
never  read  such  things ;  that  the  business  of  a  newspaper 
was  to  supply  news ;  and  that  an  intelligent  Englishman  was 
better  capable  of  forming  a  judgment  on  public  affairs  than 
the  hacks  of  a  newspaper-office.  The  intelligent  Englishman 
then  proceeded  to  deliver  his  own  judgment  on  the  question  of 
the  day,  which  turned  out  to  be — to  Mr.  Brand's  great  sur- 
prise— nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  blundering  and  inaccurate 
resume  of  the  opinions  expressed  in  a  leading  article  in  that 
morning's  Times.  At  length  this  one-sided  conversation  be- 
tween a  jackanapes  and  a  jackass  became  too  intolerable  for 
Brand,  who  threw  away  his  cigarette,  and  descended  once 
more  into  the  hall. 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  a  boy  ;  and  at 
the  same  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Lord  Evelyn. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  hurrying  forward  to  shake 
his  friend  by  the  ""hand.  "Come,  Evelyn,  what  are  you  up 
to  ?  I  can't  stand  England  any  longer  ;  will  you  take  a  run 
with  me  ? — Algiers,  Egypt,  anywhere  you  like.  Let  us  drop 
down  to  Dover  in  the  afternoon,  and  settle  it  there.  Or  what 
do  you  say  to  the  Riviera  ?  we  should  be  sure  to  run  against 
some  people  at  one  or  other  of  the  towns.  Upon  my  life,  if 
you  had  not  turned  up,  I  think  I  should  have  cut  my  throat 
before  lunch-time." 

"  I  have  got  something  better  for  you  to  do  than  that," 
said  the  other ;  "  I  want  you  to  see  O'Halloran.  Come 
along ;  I  have  a  hansom  here.  We  shall  just  catch  him  at 
Atkinson's,  the  book-shop,  you  know." 

"  Very  well ;  all  right,"  Brand  said,  briskly :  this  seemed 
to  be  rather  a  more  cheerful  business  than  cutting  one's 
throat. 

"  He's  at  his  telegraph-wire  all  night,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
in  the  hansom.  "  Then  he  lies  down  for  a  few  hours'  sleep 
on  a  sofa.  Then  he  goes  along  to  his  rooms  in  Pimlico  for 
breakfast ;  but  at  Atkinson's  he  generally  stops  for  awhile  on 
his  way,  to  have  his  morning  drink." 

"  Oh,  is  that  the  sort  of  person  ?  " 

"  Don't  make  any  mistake.     O'Halloran  may  be  eccentric 


32  S 

in  his  ways  of  living,  but  he  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  I  have  ever  run  against.  His  knowledge,  his  reading — 
politics,  philosophy,  everything,  in  short — the  brilliancy  of 
his  talking  when  he  gets  excited,  even  the  extraordinary  va- 
riety of  his  personal  acquaintance — why,  there  is  nothing  go- 
ing on  that  he  does  not  know  about." 

"  But  why  has  this  Hibernian  genius  done  nothing  at  all  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  You  might  as  well  try  to  kindle  a  fire  with  a 
flash  of  lightning.  He  has  more  political  knowledge  and 
more  power  of  brilliant  writing  than  half  the  editors  in  Lon- 
don put  together  ;  but  he  would  ruin  any  paper  in  twenty-four 
hourS.  His  first  object  would  probably  be  to  frighten  his 
readers  out  of  their  wits  by  some  monstrous  paradox  ;  his 
next  to  show  them  what  fools  they  had  been.  I  don't  know 
how  he  has  been  kept  on  so  long  where  he  is,  unless  it  be 
that  he  deals  with  news  only.  1  believe  he  had  to  be  with- 
drawn from  the  gallery  of  the  House ;  he  was  very  impatient 
over  the  prosy  members  and  his  remarks  about  them  began 
to  reach  the  Speaker's  ear  too  frequently." 

"  I  gather,  then,  that  he  is  merely  a  clever,  idle,  Irish  vag- 
abond, who  drinks." 

"  He  does  not  clrink.  And  as  for  his  Irish  name  I  suppose 
he  must  be  Irish  either  by  descent  or  bgrth  ;  but  he  is  con- 
tinually abusing  Ireland  and  the  Irish.  Probably,  however, 
he  would  not  let  anybody  else  do  so." 

Mr.  Atkinson's  book-shop  in  the  Strand  was  a  somewhat 
dingy-looking  place,  filled  with  publications  mostly  of  an  ex- 
ceedingly advanced  character.  Mr.  Atkinson  himself  claimed 
to  be  a  bit  of  a  reformer ;  and  had  indeed  brought  himself, 
on  one  or  two  occasions,  within  reach  of  the  law  by  issuing 
pamphlets  of  a  somewhat  too  fearless  aim.  On  this  occasion 
he  was  not  in  the  shop  ;  so  the  two  friends  passed  through, 
ascended  a  dark  little  stair,  and  entered  a  room  which 
smelled  strongly  of  tobacco-smoke. 

The  solitary  occupant  of  this  chamber,  to  whom  Brand  was 
immediately  introduced,  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  carelessly 
if  not  even  shabbily  dressed,  with  large  masses  of  unkempt 
hair,  and  eyes,  dark  gray,  deep-set,  that  had  very  markedly 
the  look  of  the  eyes  of  a  lion.  The  face  was  worn  and  pallid, 
but  when  lit  up  with  excitement  it  was  capable  of  much  ex- 
pression ;  and  Mr.  O'Halloran,  when  he  did  become  excited, 
got  very  much  excited  indeed.  He  had  laid  aside  his  pipe, 
and  was  just  finishing  his  gin  and  soda-water,  taken  from  Mr. 
Atkinson's  private  store. 

However,  the  lion  so  seldom  roars  when  it  is  expected  to 


PIONEERS  33 

roar.  Instead  of  the  extraordinary  creature  whom  Lord  Eve- 
lyn had  been  describing,  Brand  found  merely  an  Irish  news- 
paper-reporter, who  was  either  tired,  or  indifferent,  or  sleepy. 
They  talked  about  some  current  topic  of  the  hour  for  a  few 
minutes  ;  and  then  Mr.  O'Halloran,  with  a  yawn,  rose  and 
said  he  must  go  home  for  breakfast. 

"  Stay  a  bit,  O'Halloran,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  in  despair  ; 
"  I — I  wanted — the  fact  is,  Mr.  Brand  has  been  asking  me 
about  Ferdinand  Lind — " 

"  Oh,"  said  the  bushy-headed  man,  with  a  quick  glance  of 
scrutiny  at  the  tall  Englishman.  "  No,  no,"  he  a  Icled,  with 
a  smile,  addressing  himself  directly  to  Brand.  "It  is  no  use 
your  touching  anything  of  that  kind.  You  would  want  to 
know  too  much.  You  would  want  to  have  the  earth  dug 
away  from  over  the  catacombs  before  you  went  below  to  fol- 
low a  solitary  guide  with  a  bit  of  candle.  You  could  never 
be  brought  to  understand  that  the  cardinal  principle  of  all 
secret  societies  has  been  that  obedience  is  an  end  and  aim  in 
itself,  and  faith  the  chiefest  of  all  the  virtues.  You  wouldn't 
take  anything  on  trust ;  you  have  the  pure  English  tempera- 
ment." 

Brand  laughed,  and  said  nothing.  But  O'Halloran  sat 
down  again,  and  began  to  talk  in  an  idle,  hap-hazarcl  sort  of 
fashion  of  the  various  secret  societies,  religious,  social,  polit- 
ical that  had  become  known  to  the  world  ;  and  of  their  aims, 
and  their  working,  and  how  they  had  so  often  fallen  away 
into  the  mere  preservation  of  mummeries,  or  declared  them- 
selves only  by  the  commission  of  useless  deeds  of  revenge. 

"Ah,"  said  Brand,  eagerly,  "that  is  precisely  what  I  have 
been  urging  on  Lord  Evelyn.  How  can  you  know,  in  joining 
such  an  association,  that  you  are  not  becoming  the  accom- 
plices of  men  who  are  -merely  planning  assassination  ?  And 
what  good  can  come  of  that  ?  How  are  you  likely  to  gain 
anything  by  the  dagger  ?  The  great  social  and  political 
changes  of  the  world  come  in  tides  ;  you  can  neither  retard 
them  nor  help  them  by  sticking  pins  in  the  sand." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  the  other,  doubtfully.  "  A  little 
wholesome  terrorism  has  sometimes  played  its  part.  The 
1868  amnesty  to  the  Poles  in  Siberia  was  not  so  long  after — 
not  more  than  a  year  after,  I  think — that  little  business  of 
Berezowski.  Faith,  what  a  chance  that  man  had  !  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Berezowski,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  contemplation. 
"  The  two  biggest  scoundrels  in  the  world  in  one  carriage  ; 
3 


34  SUNRISE. 

and  he  had  two  shots  at  them.  Well,  well,  Orsini  succeeded 
better." 

"  Succeeded  ?  "  said  George  Brand.  "  Do  you  call  that  suc- 
cess ?  He  had  the  reward  that  he  richly  merited,  at  all 
events." 

"  You  do  not  think  he  was  successful  ?  "  he  said,  calmly. 
"  Then  you  do  not  know  how  the  kingdom  of  Italy  came  by 
its  liberty.  Who  do  you  think  was  the  founder  of  that  king- 
dom of  Italy  ? — which  God  preserve  till  it  become  something 
better  than  a  kingdom  !  Not  Cavour,  with  all  his  wiliness  ; 
not  your  Galantuomo,  the  warrior  who  wrote  up  Aspromonte 
in  the  face  of  all  the  world  as  the  synonym*  for  the  gratitude 
of  kings ;  not  Garibaldi,  who,  in  spite  of  Aspromonte,  has 
become  now  merely  the  concierge  to  the  House  of  Savoy. 
The  founder  of  the  kingdom  of  Italy  was  Felix  Orsini — and 
whether  heaven  or  hell  contains  him,  I  drink  his  health  !  " 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  word.  Brand  looked  on,  not 
much  impressed. 

"  That  is  all  nonsense,  O'Halloran  !  "  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
bluntly. 

"  I  tell  you,"  O'Halloran  said,  with  some  vehemence, 
"  that  the  i4th  of  January,  1858,  kept  Louis  Napoleon  in 
such  a  state  of  tremor,  that  he  would  have  done  a  good  deal 
more  than  lend  his  army  to  Sardinia  to  sweep  the  Austrians 
out  rather  than  abandon  himself  to  the  fate  that  Cavour 
plainly  and  distinctly  indicated.  Bat  for  the  threat  of  another 
dose  of  Orsini  pills,  do  you  think  you  would  ever  have  heard 
of  Magenta  and  Solferino  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  rouse  himself  a  bit  now. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  approve  of  assassination  as  a 
political  weapon.  It  seldom  answers.  But  it  has  always 
J3een  the  policy  of  absolute  governments,  and  of  their  allies 
the  priests  and  the  police,  to  attribute  any  murders  that  might 
occur  to  the  secret  societies,  and  so  to  terrify  stupid  people. 
It  is  one  of  the  commonest  slanders  in  history.  Why,  every- 
body knows  how  Fouche  humbugged  the  First  Napoleon, 
and  got  up  vague  plots  to  prove  that  he,  and  he  alone,  knew 
what  was  going  on.  When  Karl  Sand  killed  Kotzebue — oh, 
of  course,  that  was  a  fine  excuse  for  the  German  kings  and 
princes  to  have  another  raid  against  free  speech,  though  Sand 
declared  he  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  with  either  the 
Tugendbund  or  any  such  society.  Who  now  believes  that 
Young  Italy  killed  Count  Rossi  ?  Rossi  was  murdered  by 
the  agents  of  the  clericals  ;  it  was  distinctly  proved.  But 
any  stick  is  good  enough  to  beat  a  dog  with.  No  matter  what 


PJOA'EEKS. 


35 


the  slander  is,  so  long  as  you  can  get  up  a  charge,  either  for 
the  imprisoning  of  a  dangerous  enemy  or  tor  terrifying  the 
public  mind.  You  yourself,  Mr.  Brand — I  can  see  that  your 
only  notion  of  the  innumerable  secret  societies  now  in  Europe 
is  that  they  will  probably  assassinate  people.  That's  what 
they  said  about  the  Carbonari  too.  The  objects  of  the  Car- 
bonari were  plain  as  plain  could  be  ;  but  no  sooner  had  Gen- 
eral Pepe  kicked  out  Ferdinand  and  put  in  a  constitutional 
monarch,  than  Austria  must  needs  attribute  every  murder 
that  was  committed,  to  those  detestable  Carbonari,  so  that 
she  should  call  upon  Prussia  and  Russia  to  join  her  in 
strangling  the  infant  liberties  of  Europe.  You  see,  we  can't 
get  at  those  Royal  slanderers.  We  can  get  at  a  man  like 
Sir  James  Graham,  when  we  force  him  to  apologize  in  the 
House  of  Commons  for  having  said  that  Mazzini  instigated 
the  assassination  of  the  spies  Emiliani  and  Lazzareschi." 

"  But,  good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Brand,  "  does  anybody 
doubt  that  that  was  a  political  double  murder  ? " 

O'Halloran  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiled. 

"  You  may  call  it  murder  if  you  like  ;  others  might  call  it 
a  fitting  punishment.  But  all  I  was  asking  you  to  do  was 
to  remove  from  your  mind  that  bugbear  that  the  autocratic 
governments  of  Europe  have  created  for  their  own  uses.  No 
secret  society — if  you  except  those  Nihilists,  who  appear  to 
have  gone  mad  altogether — I  say,  no  secret  society  of  the 
present  day  recognizes  political  assassination  as  a  normal  or 
desirable  weapon  ;  though  it  may  have  to  be  resorted  to  in 
extreme  cases.  You,  as  an  individual,  might,  in  certain  cir- 
cumstances, lawfully  kill  a  man  ;  but  that  is  neither  the  cus- 
tom, nor  the  object,  nor  the  chief  thought  of  your  life." 

"  And  are  there  many  of  these  societies  ?  "  Brand  asked. 

O'Halloran  had  carelessly  lit  himself  another  pipe. 

"  Europe  is  honey-combed  with  them.  They  are  growing 
in  secret  as  rapidly  as  some  kindred  societies  are  growing  in 
the  open.  Look  at  the  German  socialists — in  1871  they 
polled  only  120,000  votes;  in  1874  they  polled  340,000:  I 
imagine  that  Herr  Furst  von  Bismarck  will  find  some  diffi- 
culty in  suppressing  that  Frankenstein  monster  he  coquetted 
so  long  with.  Then  the  Knights  of  Labor  in  America :  you 
will  hear  something  of  them  by-and-by,  or  I  am  mistaken. 
In  secret  and  in  the  open  alike  there  is  a  vast  power  growing 
and  growing,  increasing  in  volume  and  bulk  from  hour  to 
hour,  from  year  to  year ;  God  only  knows  in  what  fashion  it 
will  reveal  itself.  But  you  may  depend  on  it  that  when  the 
spark  does  spring  out  of  the  cloud — when  the  clearance  of  the 


36  SUNRISE. 

atmosphere  is  due — people  will  look  back  on  1688,  and  1798, 
and  1848  as  mere  playthings.  The  Great  Revolution  is  still 
to  come  ;  it  may  be  nearer  than  some  imagine." 

He  had  grown  more  earnest,  both  in  his  manner  and  his 
speech. 

"Well,"  George  Brand  said,  "timid  people  may  reassure 
themselves.  Where  there  are  so  many  societiets,  there  will 
be  as  many  different  aims.  Some,  like  the  wilder  German 
socialists,  will  want  a  general  participation  of  property ;  others 
a  demolition  of  the  churches  and  crucifixion  of  the  priests ; 
others  the  establishment  of  a  Universal  Republic.  There 
may  be  a  great  deal  of  powder  stored  up,  but  it  will  all  go  off 
in  different  directions,  in  little  fireworks." 

A  quick  light  gleamed  in  those  deep-set,  lion-like  eyes. 

"  Very  well  said  !  "  was  the  scornful  comment.  "  The 
Czar  himself  could  not  have  expressed  his  belief,  or  at  least 
his  hope,  more  neatly.  But  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  the 
masses  of  mankind  are  not  such  hopeless  idiots  as  are  some 
of  the  feather-headed  orators  and  writers  who  speak  for  them  ; 
and  that  you  will  appeal  to  them  in  vain  if  you  do  not  ap- 
peal to  their  sense  of  justice,  and  their  belief  in  right,  and  in 
the  eternal  laws  of  God.  You  may  have  a  particular  crowd 
go  mad,  or  a  particular  city  go  mad;  but  the  heart  of  the 
people  beats  true,  and  if  you  desire  a  great  political  change, 
you  must  appeal  to  their  love  of  fair  and  honest  dealing  as 
between  man  and  man.  And  even  if  the  aims  of  these  soci- 
eties are  diverse,  what  then  ?  What  would  you  thinkfhow, 
if  it  were  possible  to  construct  a  common  platform,  where 
certain  aims  at  least  could  be  accepted  by  all,  and  become 
bonds  to  unite  those  who  are  hoping  for  better  things  all  over 
the  earth  ?  That  did  not  occur  to  you  as  a  possible  thing, 
perhaps  ?  You  have  only  studied  the  ways  of  kings  and  gov- 
ernments— each  one  for  itself.  *  Come  over  my  boundary, 
and  I  will  cleave  your  head ;  or,  rather,  I  will  send  my  com- 
mon people  to  do  it,  for  a  little  blood-letting  from  time  to 
time  is  good  for  that  vile  and  ignorant  body.'  But  the  vile 
and  ignorant  body  may  begin  to  tire  of  that  recurrent  blood- 
letting, and  might  perhaps  even  say,  *  Brother  across  the 
boundary,  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you.  You  are  poor  and  ig- 
norant like  myself ;  the  travail  of  the  earth  lies  hard  on  you ; 
I  would  rather  give  you  my  hand.  If  I  have  any  quarrel, 
surely  it  is  with  the  tyrants  of  the  earth,  who  have  kept  both 
you  and  me  enslaved ;  who  have  taken  away  our  children 
from  us;  who  have  left  us  scarcely  bread.  How  long,  O 
Lord,  how  long?  We  are  tired  of  !he  reign  of  Caesar;  we 


BON  VOYAGE! 


37 


are  beaten  down  with  it ;  who  will  help  us  now  to  establish 
the  reign  of  Christ  ?  " 

He  rose.  Despite  the  unkempt  hair,  this  man  looked  quite 
handsome  now,  while  this  serious  look  was  in  his  face. 
Brand  began  to  perceive  whence  his  friend  Evelyn  had  de- 
rived at  least  some  of  his  inspiration. 

"Meanwhile,"  O'Halloran  said,  with  a  light,  scornful 
laugh,  "  Christianity  has  been  of  excellent  service  to  Caesar ; 
it  has  been  the  big  policeman  of  Europe.  Do  you  think  these 
poor  wretches  would  have  been  so  patient  if  they  had  not  be- 
lieved there  was  some  compensation  reserved  for  them  be- 
yond the  grave  ?  They  would  have  had  Caesar  by  the  throat 
by  this  time." 

"  Then  that  scheme  of  co-operation  you  mentioned," 
Brand  said,  somewhat  hastily — for  he  saw  that  O'Halloran 
was  about  to  leave — "  that  is  what  Ferdinand  Lind  is  work- 
ing at  ? " 

The  other  started. 

I  cannot  give  you  any  information  on  that  point,"  said 
O'Halloran,  gravely.  "  And  I  do  not  think  you  are  likely  to 
get  much  anywhere  if  you  are  only  moved  by  curiosity,  how- 
ever sympathetic  and  well-wishing." 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  stick. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  he  ;  and  he  looked  at  him 
with  a  kindly  look.  "  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  you  are  now  in 
the  position  of  a  man  at  a  partly  opened  door,  half  afraid  to 
enter,  and  too  curious  to  draw  back.  Well,  my  advice  to  you 
is — Draw  back.  Or  at  least  remember  this  :  that  before  you 
enter  that  room  you  must  be  without  doubt — and  without 
fear." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BON  VOYAGE ! 

FEAR  he  had  none.  His  life  was  not  so  valuable  to  him 
that  he  would  have  hesitated  about  throwing  himself  into 
any  forlorn-hope,  provided  that  he  was  satisfied  of  the  jus- 
tice of  the  cause.  He  had  dabbled  a  little  in  philosophy, 
and  not  only  believed  that  the  ordinary  altruistic  instincts  of 
mankind  could  be  traced  to  a  purely  utilitarian  origin,  but 
also  that,  on  the  same  theory,  the  highest  form  of  personal 
gratification  might  be  found  in  the  severest  form,  of  self-sac- 
rifice. He  did  not  pity  a  martyr ;  he  envied  him.  But  be- 


3«  S&WX7S3. 

fore  the  martyr's  joy  must  come  the  martyr's  faith.  Without 
that  enthusiastic  belief  in  the  necessity  and  nobleness  and 
value  of  the  sacrifice,  what  could  there  be  but  physical  pain 
and  the  despair  of  a  useless  death  ? 

"  But,  if  he  had  no  fear,  he  had  a  superabundance  of  doubt. 
He  had  not  all  the  pliable,  receptive,  imaginative  nature  of 
his  friend,  Lord  Evelyn.  He  had  more  than  the  ordinary 
Englishman's  distrust  of  secrecy.  He  was  not  to  be  won  over 
by  the  visions  of  a  St.  Simon,  the  eloquence  of  a  Fourier,  the 
epigrams  of  a  Proudhon  :  these  were  to  him  but  intellectual 
playthings,  of  no  practical  value.  It  was,  doubtless,  a  nov- 
elty for  a  young  man  brought  up  as  Lord  Evelyn  had  been  to 
associate  with  a  gin-drinking  Irish  reporter,  and  to  regard 
him  as  the  mysterious  apostle  of  a  new  creed ;  Brand  only 
saw  in  O'Halloran  a  light-headed,  imaginative,  talkative  per- 
son, as  safe  to  trust  to  for  guidance  as  a  will-o'-the-wisp.  It  is 
true  that  for  the  time  being  he  had  been  thrilled  by  the  pas- 
sionate fervor  of  Natalie  Lind's  singing ;  and  many  a  time 
since  he  could  have  fancied  that  he  heard  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night  that  pathetic  and  vibrating  appeal — 

"  When,  when  will  the  Lord  cry,  '  Revenge,  it  is  mine  ? '  " 

But  he  dissociated  her  from  her  father's  schemes  altogether. 
No  doubt  she  was  moved  by  the  generous  enthusiasm  of  a 
young  girl.  She  had  a  warm,  human,  sympathetic  heart; 
the  "cry  of  the  poor  and  the  suffering  appealed  to  her ;  and  she 
was  confident  in  the  success  of  projects  of  which  she  had 
been  prudently  kept  ignorant.  This  was  George  Brand's 
reading.  He  would  not  have  Natalie  Lind  associated  with 
Liecester  Square  and  a  lot  of  garlic-eating  revolutionaries. 

"  But  who  is  this  man  Lind  ? "  he  asked,  impatiently,  of 
Lord  Evelyn.  He  had  driven  up  to  his  friends  house  in 
Clarges  Street,  had  had  luncheon  with  him,  and  they  were 
now  smoking  a  cigarette  in  the  library. 

"  You  mean  his  nationality  ? "  said  his  friend,  laughing. 
"  That  has  puzzled  me,  too.  He  seems,  at  all  events,  to  have 
had  his  linger  in  a  good  many  pies.  He  escaped  into  Tur- 
key with  Bern,  I  know ;  and  he  has  been  imprisoned  in  Rus- 
sia ;  and  once  or  twice  1  have  heard  him  refer  to  the  amnesty 
that  was  proclaimed  when  Louis  Napoleon  was  presented 
with  an  heir.  But  whether  he  is  Pole,  or  Jew,  or  Slav,  there 
is  no  doubt  about  his  daughter  being  a  thorough  Hungarian." 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  Brand,  with  decision.  "  I  have  seen 
lots  of  women  of  that  type  in  Pesth,  and  in  Vienna,  too :  if 


BON  I'OYAGE 

you  are  walking  in  the  Prater  you  can 
rian  women  as  they  drive  past.  But 
beautiful  as  she  is." 

After  awhile  Lord  Evelyn  said, 

"This  is  Natalie's  birthday.  By-and-by  I  am  going  along 
to  Bond  Street  to  buy  some  little  thing  for  her." 

"  Then  she  allows  you  to  make  her  presents  ?  "  Brand  said, 
somewhat  coldly. 

"  She  and  I  are  like  brother  and  sister  now,"  said  the  pale, 
deformed  lad,  without  hesitation.  "  If  I  were  ill,  I  think  she 
would  be  glad  to  come  and  look  after  me." 

"You  have  already  plenty  of  sisters  who  would  do  that." 

"  By-the-way,  they  are  coming  to  town  next  week  with  my 
mother.  You  must  come  and  dine  with  us  some  night,  if  you 
are  not  afraid  to  face  the  chatter  of  such  a  lot  of  girls." 

"  Have  they  seen  Miss  Lind  ?  " 

"  No,  not  yet." 

"  And  how  will  you  explain  your  latest  craze  to  them,  Eve- 
lyn ?  They  are  very  nice  girls  indeed,  you  know  ;  but — but 
— when  they  set  full  cry  on  you —  I  suppose  some  day  I  shall 
have  to  send  them  a  copy  of  a  newspaper  from  abroad,  with 
this  kind  of  thing  in  it :  *  Compeared  yesterday  before  the  Cor- 
rectional Tribunal,  Earnest  Francis  L?  Agincourt,  Baron  Eve- 
lyti,  charged  with  having  in  his  possession  two  canisters  of  an  ex- 
plosive compound  and  fourteen  empty  missiles.  Further,  among 
the  correspondence  of  the  accused  was  found — '  " 

-  "  '  A  letter  from  an  Englishman  named  Brand]  "  continued 
Lord  Evelyn,  as  he  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  "  *  appar- 
ently written  under  the  influence  of  nightmare'  Come,  Brand, 
I  see  the  carriage  is  below.  Will  you  drive  with  me  to  the 
jeweller's  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  his  friend  ;  and  at  this  moment  the  car- 
riage was  announced.  "  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  for  me  to 
buy  the  thing  ?  You  know  I  have  more  money  to  spend  on 
trinkets  than  you  have." 

They  were  very  intimate  friends  indeed.  Lord  Evelyn  only 
said,  with  a  smile, 

"  I  am  afraid  Natalie  wouldn't  like  it." 

But  this  choosing  of  a  birthday  present  was  a  terrible  busi- 
ness. The  jeweller  was  as  other  jewellers  ;  his  designs  were 
mostly  limited  to  the  representation  of  two  objects — a  butterfly 
for  a  woman,  and  a  horseshoe  for  a  man.  At  last  Brand,  who 
had  been  walking  about  from  time  to  time,  espied,  in  a  dis^ 
tant  case,  an  object  which  instantly  attracted  his  attention. 
It  was  a  flat  piece  of  wood  or  board,  covered  with  blue  velvet; 


40  SUNRISE. 

and  on  this  had  been  twined  an  unknown  number  of  yards  of 
the  beautiful  thread-like  gold  chain  common  to  the  jewellers' 
shop-windows  in  Venice. 

"  Here  you  are,  Evelyn,"  Brand  said  at  once.  "  Why  not 
buy  a  lot  of  this  thin  chain,  and  let  her  make  it  into  any  sort 
of  decoration  that  she  chooses  ?  " 

"  It  is  an  ignominious  way  out  of  the  difficulty,"  said  the 
other :  but  he  consented ;  and  yard  after  yard  of  the  thread- 
like chain  was  unrolled.  When  allowed  to  drop  together,  it 
seemed  to  go  into  no  compass  at  all. 

They  went  outside. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Brand  ?  " 

The  other  was  looking  cheerless  enough. 

"  I  ? "  he  said,  with  the  slightest  possible  shrug.  "  I  suppose 
I  must  go  down  to  the  club,  and  yawn  away  the  time  till  din- 
ner." 

"Then  why  not  come  with  me  ?  I  have  a  commission  or 
two  from  my  sisters — one  as  far  out  as  Notting  Hill ;  but  after 
that  we  can  drive  back  through  the  Park  and  call  on  the  Linds. 
I  dare  say  Lind  will  be  home  by  that  time." 

Lord  Evelyn's  friend  was  more  than  delighted.  As  they 
drove  from  place  to  place  he  was  a  good  deal  more  talkative 
than  was  his  wont ;  and,  among  other  things,  confessed  his 
belief  that  Ferdinand  Lind  seemed  much  too  hard-headed  a 
man  to  be  engaged  in  mere  visionary  enterprises.  But  some- 
how the  conversation  generally  came  round  to  Mr.  Lind's 
daughter  ;  and  Brand  seemed  very  anxious  to  find  out  to  what 
degree  she  was  cognizant  of  her  father's  schemes.  On  this 
point  Lord  Evelyn  knew  nothing. 

At  last  they  arrived  at  the  house  in  Curzon  Street,  and 
found  Mr.  Lind  just  on  the  point  of  entering.  He  stayed 
to  receive  them;  went  up-stairs  with  them  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  then  begged  them  to  excuse  him  for  a  few  min- 
utes. Presently  Natalie  Lind  appeared. 

How  this  man  envied  his  friend  Evelyn  the  frank,  sister- 
like  way  in  which  she  took  the  little  present,  and  thanked  him, 
for  that  and  his  kind  wishes  !  . 

"  Ah,  do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  what  a  strange  birthday 
gift  I  had  given  me  this  morning  ?  See  !  " 

She  brought  over  the  old-fashioned  silver  locket,  and  told 
them  the  whole  story. 

"  Is  it  not  strange  ?  "  she  said.  "  'From  Natalie  to  Nata 
lushka:  'that  is,  from  myself  to  myself.  What  can  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  asked  your  father,  then,  about  his  mysteri- 
ous messenger?"  Brand  said.  He  was  always  glad  to  ask 


BON  VOYAGE!  41 

this  girl  a  question,  for  she  looked  him  so  straight  in  the  face 
with  her  soft,  dark  eyes,  as  sjie  answered, 

"  He  has  only  now  come  home.     I  will  directly." 

"  But  why  does  your  father  call  y,ou  Natalushka,  Natalie  ?  " 
asked  Lord  Evelyn. 

There  was  the  slightest  blush  on  the  pale,  clear  face. 

"  It  was  a  nickname  they  gave  me,  I  am  told,  when  I  was 
child.  They  used  to  make  me  angry." 

"  And  now,  if  one  were  to  call  you  Natalushka? " 

"  My  anger  would  be  too  terrible,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  Papa  alone  dares  to  do  that." 

Presently  her  father  came  into  the  room. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  said  she,  "  I  have  discovered  who  the  lady  is 
whom  you  got  to  bring  me  the  flowers.  And  see  !  she  has 
given  me  this  strange  little  locket.  Look  at  the  inscription — 
'From  Natalie  to  Natalushka'  " 

Lind  only  glanced  at  the  locket.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  girl. 

"  Where  did  you  see  the — the  lady  ?  "  he  asked,  coldly. 

"  In  the  Park.  But  she  did  not  stay  a  moment,  or  speak  ; 
she  hurried  on,  and  Anneli  thought  she  was  crying.  I  almost 
think  so  too.  Who  was  it,  papa  ?  May  I  speak  to  her,  if  I 
see  her  again  ? " 

Mr.  Lind  turned  aside  for  a  moment.  Brand,  who  was  nar- 
rowly watching  him,  was  convinced  that  the  man  was  in  a  pas- 
sion of  rage.  But  when  he  turned  again  he  was  outwardly 
calm. 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Natalie,"  he  said  in 
measured  tones.  "  I  have  warned  you  before  against  making 
indiscriminate  acquaintances  ;  and  Anneli,  if  she  is  constantly 
getting  such  stupidities  into  her  head,  must  be  sent  about  her 
business.  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything  more  about  it. 
Will  you  ring  and  ask  why  tea  has  not  been  sent  up  ? " 

The  girl  silently  obeyed.  Her  father  had  never  spoken  to 
her  in  this  cold,  austere  tone  before.  She  sat  down  at  a  small 
table,  apart. 

Mr.  Lind  talked  for  a  minute  or  two  with  his  guests ;  then 
he  said, 

"  Natalie,  you  have  the  zither  there  ;  why  do  you  not  play 
us  something  ?  " 

She  turned  to  the  small  instrument,  and,  after  a  second  or 
two,  played  a  few  notes  :  that  was  all.  She  rose  and  said,  "  I 
don't  think  I  can  play  this  afternoon,  papa  ;  "  and  then  she 
left  the  room. 

Mr.  Lind  pretended  to  converse  with  his  guests  as  before  ; 


42  SUNRISE. 

and  tea  came  in  ;  but  presently  he  begged  to  be  excused  for 
a  moment,  and  left  the  room.  George  Brand  rose,  and  took 
a  turn  or  two  up  and  down. 

"  It  would  take  very  little,"  he  muttered — for  his  teeth  were 
set — "  to  make  me  throw'  that  fellow  out  of  the  window  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Lord  Evelyn  said,  in  great  surprise. 

"Didn't you  see?  She  left  the  room  to  keep  from  crying. 
That  miserable  Polish  cutthroat — I  should  like  to  kick  him 
down-stairs  ! " 

But  at  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  father  and 
daughter  entered,  arm-in-arm.  Natalie's  face  was  a  little  bit 
flushed,  but  she  was  very  gentle  and  affectionate ;  they  had 
made  up  that  brief  misunderstanding,  obviously.  And  she 
had  brought  in  her  hand  a  mob-cap  of  black  satin :  would 
Lord  Evelyn  allow  her  to  try  the  effect  of  twisting  those  beau- 
tiful golden  threads  through  it  ? 

"  Natalushka,"  said  her  father,  with  great  good-humor,  "  it 
is  your  birthday.  Do  you  think  you  could  persuade  Lord 
Evelyn  and  Mr.  Brand  to  come  to  your  dinner-party  ? " 

It  was  then  explained  to  the  two  gentlemen  that  on  this 
great  anniversary  it  was  the  custom  of  Mr.  Lind,  when  in 
London,  to  take  his  daughter  to  dine  at  some  French  or  Ital- 
ian restaurant  in  Regent  Street  or  thereabouts.  In  fact,  she 
liked  to  play  at  being  abroad  for  an  hour  or  two ;  to  see 
around  her  foreign  faces,  and  hear  foreign  tongues. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  say  that  it  is  very  easy  to  remind 
yourself  of  the  Continent,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  smiling — "  that 
you  have  only  to  go  to  a  place  where  they  give  you  oily  food 
and  bad  wine." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Brand,  "  I  should  thing  it  very 
difficult  in  London  to  imagine  yourself  in  a  foreign  town  ;  for 
London  is  drained.  However,  I  accept  the  invitation  with 
pleasure." 

"And  I, "said  Lord  Evelyn.  "Now,  must  we  be  off  to 
dress  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Natalie.  "  Do  you  not  understand  that 
you  are  abroad,  and  walking  into  a  restaurant  to  dine  ?  And 
now  I  will  play  you  a  little  invitation — not  to  dinner  ;  for  you 
must  suppose  you  have  dined — and  you  come  out  on  the 
stairs  of  the  hotel,  and  step  into  the  black  gondola." 

She  went  along  to  the  small  table,  and  sat  down  to  the 
zither.  There  were  a  few  notes  of  prelude;  and  then  they 
heard  the  beautiful  low  voice  added  to  the  soft  tinkling 
sounds.  What  did  they  vaguely  make  out  from  that  melodi- 
ous murmur  of  Italian  ? 


BON  VOYAGE!  43 

Behold  the  beautiful  night — the  wind  sleeps  drowsily — the  silent 
shores  slumber  in  the  dark  : 

"  Sul  placido  elemento 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  !  " 

The  soft  wind  moves — as  it  stirs  among  the  leaves — it  moves  and  dies 
— among  the  murmur  of  the  water  : 

"  Lascia  Tamico  tetto 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  !  " 

Now  on  the  spacious  mantle — of  the  already  darkening  heavens — see, 
oh,  the  shining  wonder — how  the  white  stars  tremble  : 

"  Ai  raggi  della  luna 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  !  " 

Where  were  they  ?  Surely  they  have  passed  out  from  the 
darkness  of  the  narrow  canal,  and  are  away  on  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  lagoon.  The  Place  of  St.  Mark  is  all  aglow 
with  its  golden  points  of  fire;  the  yellow  radiance  spreads 
out  into  the  night.  And  that  other  wandering  mass  of  gold 
— the  gondola  hung  round  with  lamps,  and  followed  by  a 
dark  procession  through  the  silence  of  the  waters — does  not 
the  music  come  from  thence  ?  Listen,  now  : 

"Sul  i'onde  addormentate 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  !  " 

Can  they  hear  the  distant  chorus,  in  there  at  the  shore  where 
the  people  are  walking  about  in  the  golden  glare  of  the  lamps  ? 

*'  Vien  meco  a  navigar  ! 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  !  " 

Or  can  some  faint  echo  be  carried  away  out  to  yonder  island, 
where  the  pale  blue-white  radiance  of  the  moonlight  is  begin- 
ning to  touch  the  tall  dome  of  San  Giorgio  ? 

" — a  navigar  ! 
— a  navigar!  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  when  the  girl  rose, 
with  a  smile  on  her  face,.  "  that  you  do  not  need  to  go  into 
Regent  Street  when  you  want  to  imagine  yourself  abroad." 

Natalie  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  go  and  get  ready  now." 

Well,  they  went  to  the  big  foreign  restaurant ;  and  had  a 
small  table  all  to  themselves,  in  the  midst  of  the  glare,  and 


44  SUNRISE. 

the  heat,  and  the  indiscriminate  Bable  of  tongues.  And, 
under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Brand,  they  adventured  upon 
numerous  articles  of  food  which  were  more  varied  in  there 
names  than  in  their  flavor ;  and  they  tasted  some  of  the  com- 
pounds, reeking  of  iris-root,  that  the  Neapolitans  call  wine, 
until  they  fell  back  on  a  flask  of  Chianti,  and  were  content ; 
and  they  regarded  their  neighbors,  and  were  regarded  in  turn. 
In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Mr.  Lind,  who  had  been  somewhat  pre- 
occupied, said  suddenly. 

"  Natalie,  can  you  start  with  me  for  Leipsic  to-morrow 
afternoon  ? " 

She  was  as  prompt  as  a  soldier. 

"  Yes,  papa.     Shall  I  take  Anneli  or  not  ?" 

"  You  may  if  you  like." 

After  that  George  Brand  seemed  to  take  very  little  interest 
in  this  heterogeneous  banquet ;  he  stared  absently  at  the 
foreign-looking  people,  at  the  hurrying  waiters,  at  the  stout 
lady  behind  the  bar.  Even  when  Mr.  Lincl  told  his  daughter 
that  her  black  satin  mob-cap,  with  its  wonderful  intertwistings 
of  Venetian  chain,  looked  very  striking  in  a  mirror  opposite, 
and  when  Lord  Evelyn  eagerly  gave  his  friend  the  credit  of 
having  selected  that  birthday  gift,  he  did  not  seem  to  pay 
much  heed.  When,  after  all  was  over,  and  he  had  wished 
Natalie  "  Bon  voyage "  at  the  door  of  the  brougham,  Lord 
Evelyn  said  to  him, 

"  Come  along  to  Clarges  Street  now  and  smoke  a  cigar." 

"  No,  thanks  ! "  he  said.  "  I  think  I  will  stroll  down  to  my 
rooms  now." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Brand  ?  You  have  been  look- 
ing very  glum." 

"  Well,  I  have  been  thinking  that  London  is  a  depressing 
sort  of  a  place  for  a  man  to  live  in  who  does  not  know  many 
people  It  is  very  big,  and  very  empty.  I  don't  think  I 
shall  be  able  to  stand  it  much  longer." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN    SOLITUDE. 


A  BLUSTERING,  cold  morning  in  March  ;  the  skies  lowering, 
the  wind  increasing,  and  heavy  showers  being  driven  up  from 
time  to  time  from  the  black  and  threatening  south-west. 
This  was  strange  weather  to  make  a  man  think  of  going  to 


IN  SOLITUDE. 


45 


the  seaside ;  and  of  all  places  at  the  seaside  to  Dover,  and  of 
all  places  in  Dover  to  the  Lord  Warden  H  :lel,  which  was  sure 
to  be  filled  with  fear-stricken  foreigners,  waiting  for  the  sea 
to  calm.  Waters,  as  he  packed  the  small  portmanteau, 
could  not  ,t  all  understand  this  freak  on  the  part  of  his  mas- 
ter. 

"  If  Loi  \  Evelyn  calls,  sir,"  he  said  at  the  station,  "  when 
shall  I  sa;  you  will  be  back  ?  " 

"  In  a  1   w  days,  perhaps.     I  don't  know." 

He  had  a  compartment  to  himself;  and  away  the  train 
went  through  the  wet  and  dismal  and  foggy  country,  with  the 
rain  pouring  down  the  panes  of  the  carriage.  The  dismal 
prospect  outside,  however,  did  not  matter  much  to  this  soli- 
tary traveller.  He  turned  his  back  to  the  window,  and  read 
all  the  way  down. 

At  Dover  the  outlook  was  still  more  dismal.  A  dirty,  yel- 
low-brown sea  was  rolling  heavily  in,  springing  white  along 
the  Admiralty  Pier ;  gusts  of  rain  were  sweeping  along  the 
thoroughfare  between  the  station  and  the  hotel ;  in  the  hotel 
itself  the  rooms  were  occupied  by  a  miscellaneous  collection 
of  dissatisfied  folk,  who  aimlessly  read  the  advertisements 
in  Bradshaw,  or  stared  through  the  dripping  windows  at  the 
yellow  waves  outside.  This  was  the  condition  of  affairs 
when  George  Brand  took  up  his  residence  there.  He  was 
quite  alone  ;  but  he  had  a  sufficiency  of  books  with  him  ; 
and  so  deeply  engaged  was  he  with  these,  that  he  let  the  ordi- 
nary coffee-room  discussions  about  the  weather  pass  abso- 
lutely unheeded. 

On  the  second  morning  a  number  of  the  travellers  plucked 
up  heart  of  grace  and  embarked,  though  the  weather  was 
still  squally.  George  Brand  was  not  in  the  least  interested 
as  to  the  speculations  of  those  who  remained  about  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  the  passage.  He  drew  his  chair  toward  the 
fire,  and  relapsed  into  his  reading. 

This  day,  however,  was  varied  by  his  making  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  little  old  French  lady,  which  he  did  by  means  of  her 
two  granddaughters,  Josephine,  and  Veronique.  Veronique, 
having  been  pushed  by  Josephine,  stumbled  against  Mr. 
Brand's  knee,  and  would  inevitably  have  fallen  into  the  fire- 
place had  he  not  caught  her.  Thereupon  the  little  old  lady, 
hurrying  across  the  room,  and  looking  very  much  inclined  to 
box  the  ears  of  both  Josephine  and  Veronique,  most  pro- 
fusely apologized,  in  French,  to  monsieur.  Monsieur  reply- 
ing in  that  tongue,  said  it  was  of  no  consequence  whatever. 
Then  madame.  greatly  delighted  at  finding  some  one.  not  a 


46  SUA'RISE. 

waiter,  to  whom  she  could  speak  in  her  own  language,  con- 
tinued the  conversation,  and  very  speedily  made  monsieur 
the  confident  of  all  her  hopes  and  fears  about  that  terrible 
business  the  Channel  passage.  No  doubt  monsieur  was 
also  waiting  for  this  dreadful  storm  to  abate  ? 

Monsieur  quickly  perceived  that  so  long  as  this  voluble  lit- 
tle old  lady — who  was  as  yellow  as  a  frog,  and  had  beady 
black  eyes,  but  whose  manner  was  exceedingly  charming — 
chose  to  attach  herself  to  him,  his  pursuit  of  knowledge  was 
not  likely  to  be  attended  with  much  success,  so  he  shut  the 
book  on  his  finger,  and  pleasantly  said  to  her, 

"  Oh  no,  madame ;  I  am  only  waiting  here  for  some 
friends." 

Madame  was  greatly  alarmed  :  surely  they  would  not  cross 
in  such  frightful  weather  ?  Monsieur  ventured  to  think  it 
was  not  so  very  bad.  Then  the  little  French  lady  glanced 
out  at  the  window,  and  threw  up  her  hands,  and  said  with  a 
shudder. 

"  Frightful !  Truly  frightful.  What  should  I  do  with  those 
two  little  ones  ill,  and  myself  ill  ?  The  sea  might  sweep  them 
away !  " 

Mr.  Brand,  having  observed  something  of  the  manners  of 
Josephine  and  Veronique,  was  inwardly  of  opinion  that  the 
sea  might  be  worse  employed ;  but  what  he  said  was — 

"You  could  take  a  deck-cabin,  madame/' 

Madame  again  shuddered. 

"  Your  friends  are  English,  no  doubt,  monsieur  ;  the  English 
are  not  so  much  afraid  of  storms." 

"  No,  madame,  they  are  not  English ;  but  I  do  not  think  they 
would  let  such  a  clay  as  this,  for  example,  hinder  them.  They 
are  not  likely,  however,  to  be  on  their  way  back  for  a  day  or 
two.  To-morrow  I  may  run  over  to  Calais,  just  on  the  chance 
of  crossing  with  them  again." 

Here  was  a  mad  Englishman,  to  be  sure  !  When,  people, 
driven  by  dire  necessity,  had  their  heart  in  their  mouth 
at  the  very  notion  of  encountering  that  rough  sea,  here  was  a 
person  who  thought  of  crossing  and  returning  for  no  reason 
on  earth — a  trifling  compliment  to  his  friends — a  pleasure 
excursion — a  break  in  the  monotony  of  the  day ! 

"  And  I  shall  be  pleased  to  look  after  the  little  ones,  mad- 
ame," said  he,  politely,  "if  you  are  going  over." 

"  Madame  thanked  him  very  profusely ;  but  assured  him 
that  so  long  as  the  weather  looked  so  stormy  she  could  not 
think  of  intrusting  Josephine  and  Veronique  to  the  mercy  of 
the  waves. 


IN  SOLITUDE.  47 

Now,  if  George  Brand  had  little  hope  of  meeting  his  friends 
that  day,  he  acted  pretty  much  as  if  he  were  expecting  some 
one.  First  of  all,  he  had  secured  a  saloon-carriage  in  the 
afternoon  mail-train  to  London — an  unnecessary  luxury  for  a 
bachelor  well  accustomed  to  the  hardships  of  travel.  Then 
he  had  managed  to  procure  a  handsome  bouquet  of  freshly- 
cut  flowers.  Finally,  there  was  some  mysterious  arrangement 
by  which  fruit,  cakes,  tea,  and  wine  were  to  be  ready  at  a 
moment's  notice  in  the  event  of  that  saloon-carriage  being 
required. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  rumor  went  through  the  hotel  that  the 
vessel  was  in  sight,  away  he  went  down  the  pier,  with  his 
coat-collar  tightly  buttoned,  and  his  hat  jammed  down.  What 
a  toy-looking  thing  the  steamer  was,  away  out  there  in  the 
mists  or  the  rain,  with  the  brown  line  of  smoke  stretching 
back  to  the  horizon  !  She  was  tossing  and  rolling  a  good 
deal  among  the  brown  waves  :  he  almost  hoped  his  friends 
were  not  on  board.  And  he  wished  that  all  the  more  when 
he  at  length  saw  the  people  clamber  up  the  gangway — a 
miserable  procession  of  half-drowned  folk,  some  of  them 
scarcely  able  to  walk.  No  ;  his  friends  were  not  there.  He 
returned  to  the  hotel,  and  to  his  books. 

But  the  attentions  of  Josephine  and  Veronique  had  become 
too  pressing ;  so  he  retired  from  the  reading-room,  and  took 
refuge  in  his  own  room  up-stairs.  It  fronted  the  sea.  He 
could  hear  the  long,  monotonous,  continuous  wash  of  the 
waves  :  from  time  to  time  the  windows  rattled  with  the  wind. 

He  took  from  his  portmanteau  another  volume  from  that  he 
had  been  reading,  and  sat  down  by  the  window.  But  he  had 
only  read  a  line  or  two  when  he  turned  and  looked  absently 
out  on  the  sea.  Was  he  trying  to  recall,  amidst  all  that  con- 
fused and  murmuring  noise,  some  other  sound  that  seemed 
to  haunt  him  ? 

"  Who  is  your  lady  of  love,  oh  ye  that  pass 
Singing  ? " 

Was  he  trying  to  recall  that  pathetic  thrill  in  his  friend  Eve- 
lyn's voice  which  he  knew  was  but  the  echo  of  another  voice  ? 
He  had  never  heard  Natalie  Lincl  read ;  but  he  knew  that 
that  was  how  she  had  read,  when  Evelyn's  sensitive  nature 
had  heard  and  been  permeated  by  the  strange  tremor.  And 
now,  as  he  opened  the  book  again,  whose  voice  was  it  he 
seemed  to  hear,  in  the  silence  of  the  small  room,  amidst  the 
low  and  constant  murmur  of  the  waves  ? 


4-S  SUNRISE. 

11  — And  ye  shall  die  before  your  thrones  be  won. 
— Yea,  and  the  changed  world  and  the  liberal  sun 
Shall  move  and  shine  with  out  us,  and  we  lie 

Dead ;  but  if  she  too  move  on  earth  and  Jive — 
But  if  the  old  world,  with  all  the  old  irons  rent, 
Laugh  and  give  thanks,  shall  we  be  not  content  ? 
Nay,  we  shall  rather  live,  we  shall  not  die, 
Life  being  so  little,  and  death  so  good  to  give. 
****** 

"  — But  ye  that  might  be  clothed  with  all  things  pleasant, 
Yc  are  foolish  that  put  off  the  fair  soft  present, 
That  clothe  yourselves  with  the  coicl  future  air; 

When  mother  and  father,  and  tender  sister  and  brother, 
And  the  old  live  love  that  was  shall  be  as  ye, 
Dust,  and  no  fruit  of  loving  life  shall  be. 
— She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were, 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us  or  mother." 

He  turned  again  to  the  window,  to  the  driven  yellow  sea, 
and  the  gusts  of  rain.  Surely  there  was  no  voice  to  be  heard 
from  other  and  farther  shores  ? 

"  — Is  this  worth  life,  is  this  to  win  for  wages  ? 
Lo,  the  dead  mouths  of  the  awful  gray-grown  ages, 
The  venerable,  in  the  past  that  is  their  prison, 

In  the  outer  darkness,  in  the  unopening  grave, 
Laugh,  knowing  how  many  as  ye  now  say  have  said — 
How  many,  and  all  are  fallen,  are  fallen  and  dead: 
Shall  ye  dead  rise,  and  these  dead  have  not  risen  ? 
— Not  we  but  she,  who  is  tender  and  swift  to  save. 

" — Are  ye  not  weary,  and  faint  not  by  the  way, 
Seeing  night  by  night  devoured  of  day  by  clay, 
Seeing  hour  by  hour  consumed  in  sleepless  fire  ? 

Sleepless  :  and  ye  too,  when  shall  ye  too  sleep  ? 
— We  are  weary  in  heart  and  head,  in  hands  and  feet, 
And  surely  more  than  all  things  sleep  were  sweet, 
Than  all  things  save  the  inexorable  desire 

Which  whoso  knoweth  shall  neither  faint  nor  weep." 

He  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  for  a  time.  What  would 
one  not  give  for  a  faith  like  that  ? 

"  — Is  this  so  sweet  that  one  were  fain  to  follow  ? 
Is  this  so  sure  where  all  men's  hopes  are  hollow, 
Even  this  your  dream,  that  by  much  tribulation 

Ye  shall  make  whole  flawed  hearts,  and  bowed  necks  straight  ? 
— Nay,  though  our  life  were  blind,  our  death  were  fruitless, 
Not  therefore  were  the  whole  world's  high  hope  rootless ; 
But  man  to  man,  nation  would  turn  to  nation, 

And  the  old  life  live,  and  the  old  great  world  be  great." 

With  such  a  faith — with  that  "  inexorable  desire  "  burning 

\ 


7Ar  SOLITUDE.  49 

in  the  heart  and  the  brain — surely  one  could  find  the  answer 
easy  enough  to  the  last  question  of  the  poor  creatures  who 
wonder  at  the  way-worn  pilgrims, 

" — Pass  on  then,  and  pass  by  us  and  let  us  be, 
For  what  light  think  ye  after  life  to  see  ? 
And  if  the  world  fare  better  will  ye  know  : 

And  if  man  triumph  who  shall  seek  you  and  say  ?  " 

That  he  could  answer  for  himself,  at  any  rate.  He  was 
not  one  to  put  much  store  by  the  fair  soft  present ;  and  if 
he  were  to  enter  upon  any  undertaking  such  as  that  he  had 
had  but  a  glimpse  of,  neither  personal  reward  nor  hope  of 
any  immediate  success  would  be  the  lure.  He  would  be 
satisfied  to  know  that  his  labor  or  his  life  had  been  well  spent. 
But  whence  was  to  come  that  belief  ?  whence  the  torch  to 
kindle  the  sacred  fire  ? 

The  more  he  read,  during  these  days  of  waiting,  of  the 
books  and  pamphlets  he  had  brought  with  him,  the  less  clear 
seemed  the  way  before  him.  He  was  struck  with  admiration 
when  he  read  of  those  who  had  forfeited  life  or  liberty  in  this 
or  the  other  cause  ;  and  too  often  with  despair  when  he  came 
to  analyze  their  aims.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  he  was  so 
moved  by  the  passionate  eloquence  of  some  socialist  writer 
that  he  was  ready  to  say,  "  Well,  the  poor  devils  have  toiled 
long  enough  ;  give  them  their  turn,  let  the  revolution  cost 
what  it  may  !  "  And  then  immediately  afterward  :  "  What ! 
Stir  up  the  unhappy  wretches  to  throw  themselves  on  the  bay- 
onets of  the  standing  armies  of  Europe?  There  is  no 
emancipation  for  them  that  way." 

But  when  he  turned  from  the  declamation  and  the  impractica- 
ble designs  of  this  impassioned  literature  to  the  vast  scheme 
of  co-operation  that  had  been  suggested  rather  than  described 
to  him,  there  seemed  more  hope.  If  all  these  various  forces 
that  were  at  work  could  be  directed  into  one  channel,  what 
might  they  not  accomplish?  Weed  out  the  visionary,  the 
impracticable,  the  anarchical  from  their  aims  ;  and  then  what 
might  not  be  done  by  this  convergence  of  all  these  eager 
social  movements  ?  Lind,  he  argued  with  himself,  was  not 
at  all  a  man  likely  to  devote  himself  to  optimistic  dreams. 
Further  than  that — and  here  he  was  answering  a  suspicion 
that  again  and  again  recurred  to  him — what  if,  in  such  a 
great  social  movement,  men  were  to  be  found  who  were  only 
playing  for  their  own  hand  ?  That  was  the  case  in  every 
such  combination.  But  false  or  self-seeking  agents  neither 
destroved  the  nobleness  of  the  work  nor  could  defeat  it  in  the 


50  SUNRISE. 

end  if  it  were  worthy  to  live.  They  might  try  to  make  for 
themselves  what  use  they  could  of  the  current,  but  they  too 
were  swept  onward  to  the  sea, 

So  he  argued,  and  communed,  and  doubted,  and  tried  to  be- 
lieve. And  all  through  it — whether  he  paced  up  and  down  by 
the  sea  in  the  blustering  weather,  or  strolled  away  through 
the  town  and  up  the  face  of  the  tall  white  cliff,  or  lay  awake 
in  the  dark  night,  listening  to  the  rush  and  moan  of  the  waves 
— all  through  these  doubts  and  questions  there  was  another 
and  sweeter  and  clearer  sound,  that  seemed  to  come  from 
afar — 

"  She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were, 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us  or  mother." 

However  loud  the  sea  was  at  night,  that  was  the  sound  he 
heard,  clear  and  sweet — the  sound  of  a  girl's  voice,  that  had 
joy  in  it,  and  faith  in  the  future,  and  that  spoke  to  him  of  what 
was  to  be. 

Well,  the  days  passed  ;  and  still  his  friends  did  not  come. 
He  had  many  trips  across,  to  while  away  the  time  ;  and  had 
become  great  friends  with  the  stout,  black-haired  French  cap- 
tain. He  had  conveyed  Josephine  and  Veronique  and  their 
little  grandmother  safely  over,  and  had  made  them  as  com- 
fortable as  was  possible  under  trying  circumstances.  And 
always  and  every  day  there  were  freshly-cut  flowers  and  re- 
newed fruit,  and  a  re-engaged  saloon-carriage  waiting  for  those 
strangers  who  did  not  come ;  until  both  hotel  people  and 
railway  people  began  to  think  Mr.  Brand  as  mad  as  the  little 
French  lady  assured  herself  he  was,  when  he  said  he  meant 
to  cross  the  Channel  twice  for  nothing. 

At  last — at  last !  He  had  strolled  up  to  the  Calais  station, 
and  was  standing  on  the  platform  when  the  train  came  in. 
But  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  glance  eagerly  up  and  down 
at  the  now  opening  doors  ;  for  who  was  this  calmly  regarding 
him — or  rather  regarding  him  with  a  smile  of  surprise  ?  De- 
spite the  big  furred  cloak  and  the  hood,  he  knew  at  once ;  he 
darted  forward,  lifted  the  lower  latch  and  opened  the  door, 
and  gave  her  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Brand  ?  "  said  she,  with  a  pleas- 
ant look  of  welcome.  "  Who  could  have  expected  to  meet  you 
here  ? " 

He  was  confused,  embarrassed,  bewildered.  This  voice  so 
strangely  recalled  those  sounds  that  had  been  haunting  him 
for  days.  He  could  only  stammer  out, 

"  I — I  happened  to  be  at  Dover,  and  thought  I  would  run 


A  DISCOVERY.  51 

over  here  for  a  little  bit.     How   lucky  you  are — it  is  such  a 
beautiful  day  for  crossing/' 

"  That  is  good  news  ;  I  must  tell  papa,"  said  Natalie,  cheer- 
fully, as  she  turned  again  to  the  open  door. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    DISCOVERY. 

"  AND  you  are  going  over  too  ?  And  to  London  also  ? 
Oh,  that  will  be  very  nice." 

It  seemed  so  strange  to  hear  this  voice,  that  had  for  days 
sounded  to  him  as  if  it  were  far  away,  now  quite  close,  and  talk- 
ing in  this  friendly  and  familiar  fashion.  Then  she  had  brought 
the  first  of  the  spring  with  her.  The  air  had  grown  quite 
mild  ;  the  day  was  clear  and  shining;  even  the  little  harbor 
there  seemed  bright  and  picturesque  in  the  sun.  He  had 
never  before  considered  Calais  a  very  beautiful  place. 

And  as  for  her ;  well,  she  appeared  pleased  to  have  met 
with  this  unexpected  companion  ;  and  she  was  very  cheerful 
and  talkative  as  they  went  down  to  the  quay,  these  two  to- 
gether. And  whether  it  was  that  she  was  glad  to  be  relieved 
from  the  cramped  position  of  the  carriage,  or  whether  it  was 
that  his  being  taller  than  she  gave  countenance  to  her  height, 
or  whether  it  was  me*rely  that  she  rejoiced  in  the  sweet,  air 
and  the  exhilaration  of  the  sunlight,  she  seemed  to  walk  with 
even  more  than  her  usual  proudness  of  gait.  This  circum- 
stance did  not  escape  the  eye  of  her  father,  who  was  immedi- 
ately behind. 

"Natalie,"  said  he,  peevishly,  "you  are  walking  as  if  you 
wore  a  sword  by  your  side." 

She  did  not  seem  sorely  hurt. 

"  '  Du  Schwert  an  meiner  Linken  !  '  "  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  It  is  my  military  cloak  that  makes  you  think  so,  papa." 

Why,  even  this  cockle-shell  of  a  steamer  looked  quite  invit- 
ing on  so  pleasant  a  morning.  And  there  before  them  stretched 
the  blue  expanse  of  the  sea,  with  every  wave,  and  every 
ripple  on  every  wave,  flashing  a  line  of  silver  in  the  sunlight. 
No  sooner  were  they  out  of  the  yellow-green  waters  of  the 
harbor  than  Mr.  Brand  had  his  companions  conducted  on  to 
the  bridge  between  the  paddle-boxes  ;  and  the  little  crop- 
haired  French  boy  brought  them  camp-stools,  and  their  faces 
were  turned  toward  England. 


52  SUNRIS1-. 

"Ah  !"  said  Natalie,  "  many  a  poor  wretch  has  breathed 
more  freely  when  at  last  he  found  himself  looking  out  for  the 
English  shore.  Do  you  remember  old  Anton  Pepczinski  and 
his  solemn  toast,  papa  ?  " 

She  turned  to  George  Brand. 

"  He  was  an  old  Polish  gentleman,  who  used  to  come  to  our 
house  in  the  evening,  he  and  a  few  others  of  his  countrymen, 
to  smoke  and  play  chess.  But  always,  some  time  during  the 
evening,  he  would  say,  '  Gentlemen^  a  Pole  is  never  ungrateful. 
I  call  on  you  to  drink  this  toast :  To  the  white  chalk-line  beyond 
the  sea  ! ' '  And  then  she  added,  quickly,  "  If  I  were  English, 
how  proud  I  should  be  of  England ! ' ' 

"  But  why  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Because  she  has  kept  liberty  alive  in  Europe,"  said  the 
girl,  proudly ;  "  because  she  offers  an  exile  to  the  oppressed, 
no  matter  from  whence  they  come  ;  because  she  says  to  the  ty- 
rant, '  No,  you  cannot  follow.'  Why,  when  even  your  beer-men 
your  dray-men  know  how  to  treat  a  Haynau,  what  must  the 
spirit  of  the  country  be  ?  If  only  those  fine  fellows  could  have 
caught  Windischgratz  too  !  " 

Her  father  laughed  at  her  vehemence;  Brand  did  not. 
That  strange  vibration  in  the  girl's  voice  penetrated  him  to 
the  heart. 

"  But  then,"  said  he,  after  a  second  or  two,  "  I  have  been 
amusing  myself  for  some  days  back  by  reading  a  good  deal  of 
political  writing,  mostly  by  foreigners  ;  aifd  if  I  were  to  believe 
what  they  say,  I  should  take  it  that  England  was  the  most 
superstitious,  corrupt,  enslaved  nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth ! 
What  with  its  reverence  for  rank,  its  worship  of  the  priest- 
hood— oh,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  frightful  country  it  is  !  " 

"  Who  were  the  writers  ?  "  Mr.  Lind  asked. 

Brand  named  two  or  three,  and  instantly  the  attention  of  the 
others  seemed  arrested. 

"Oil,  that  is  the  sort  of  literature  you  have  been  reading  ?  " 
he  said,  with  a  quick  glance. 

"  I  have  had  some  days'  idleness." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  other,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  I  think 
you  might  have  spent  it  better.  That  kind  of  literature  only 
leads  to  disorder  and  anarchy.  It  may  have  been  useful  at  one 
time  ;  it  is  useful  no  longer.  Enough  of  ploughing  has  been 
done  ;  we  want  sowing  done  now — we  want  writers  who  will 
build  up  instead  of  pulling  do\\n.  Those  Nihilists,"  he  added, 
almost  with  a  sigh,  "  are  becoming  more  and  more  impracti- 
cable. They  aim  at  scarcely  anything  beyond  destruction," 


A  DISCOVERY.  53 

Here  Natalie  changed  the  conversation.  This  was  too 
bright  and  beautiful  a  day^  to  admit  of  despondency. 

"  I  suppose  you  love  the  sea,  Mr.  Brand  ?  "  she  said.  "  All 
Englishmen  do.  And  yachting — I  suppose  you  go  yacht- 
ing?" 

"  I  have  tried  it;  but  it  is  too  tedious  for  me,"  said  Brand. 
"  The  sort  of  yachting  I  like  is  in  a  vessel  of  five  thousand 
tons,  going  three  hundred  and  eighty  miles  a  day.  With  half 
a  gale  of  wind  in  your  teeth  in  the  *  rolling  Forties,'  then  there 
is  some  fun." 

"  I  must  go  over  to  the  States  very  soon,"  Mr.  Lind  said. 

"  Papa !  " 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  her  father  said,  without  heeding  that 
exclamation  of  protest,  "  that  I  have  so  much  to  do  that  can 
only  be  done  by  word  of  mouth." 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  the  message  for  you,"  Brand  said, 
lightly.  "  When  the  weather  looks  decent,  I  very  often  take 
a  run  across  to  New  York,  put  up  for  a  few  days  at  the  Bre- 
voort  House,  and  take  the  next  ship  home.  It  is  very  enjoya- 
ble, especially  if  you  know  the  officers.  Then  the  bag- 
man— I  have  acquired  a  positive  love  for  the  bagman." 

"  The  what  ?  "  said  Natalie. 

"  The  bagman.  The  i  commy '  his  friends  call  him.  The 
commercial  traveller,  don't  you  know  ?  He  is  a  most  capital 
fellow — full  of  life  and  fun,  desperately  facetious,  delighting 
in  practical  jokes  :  altogether  a  wonderful  creature.  You  be- 
gin to  think  you  are  in  another  generation — before  England 
became  melancholy — the  generation,  for  example,  that  roared 
over  the  adventures  of  Tom  and  Jerry." 

Natalie  did  not  know  who  Tom  and  jerry  were  ;  but  that  was 
of  little  consequence ;  for  at  this  moment  they  began  to  de- 
scry "  the  white  chalk-line  beyond  the  sea  " — the  white  line  of 
the  English  coast.  And  they  went  on  chatting  cheerfully  ;  and 
the  sunlight  flashed  its  diamonds  on  the  blue  waters  around 
them,  and  the  white  chalk  cliffs  became  more  distinct. 

"  And  yet  it  seems  so  heartless  for  one  to  be  going  back  to 
idleness,"  Natalie  Lind  said,  absently.  "  Papa  works  as  hard 
in  England  as  anywhere  else  ;  but  what  can  I  do  ?  To  think 
of  one  going  back  to  peaceful  days,  and  comfort,  and  pleas- 
ant friends,  when  others  have  to  go  through  such  misery,  and 
to  fight  against  such  persecution  !  When  Vjera  Sassulitch 
offered  me  her  hand — " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  with  a  quick,  frightened  look,  first 
at  George  Brand,  then  at  her  father. 

"You  need  not  hesitate,  Natalie,"  her  father  said,  calmly. 


54  SUNRISE. 

"  Mr.  Brand  has  given  me  his  word  of  honor  he  will  reveal 
nothing  he  may  hear  from  us*" 

"I  do  not  think  you  need  be  afraid,"  said  Brand  ;  but  all  the 
same  he  was  conscious  of  a  keen  pang  of  mortification.  He, 
too,  had  noticed  that  quick  look  of  fright  and  distrust.  What 
did  it  mean,  then  ?  "  You  are  beside  us,  you  are  near  to  us  ;  but 
you  are  not  of  us,  you  are  not  with  us." 

He  was  silent,  and  she  was  silent  too.  She  seemed 
ashamed  of  her  indiscretion,  and  would  say  nothing  further 
about  Vjera  Sassulitch. 

"  Don't  imagine,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  her  father,  to  break  this 
awkward  silence,  "  that  what  Natalie  says  is  true.  She  is  not 
going  to  be  so  idle  as  all  that.  No ;  she  has  plenty  of  hard 
work  before  her — at  least,  I  think  it  hard  work — trans- 
lating from  the  German  into  Polish." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help,"  Brand  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  do 
not  know  a  word  of  Polish." 

"You  help  ?"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  the  beautiful 
dark  eyes,  that  had  a  s^udden  wonder  in  them.  "  Would  you, 
if  you  knew  Polish  ?  " 

He  met  that  straight,  fearless  glance  without  flinching ; 
and  he  said  "Yes,"  while  they  still  looked  at  each  other. 
Then  her  eyes  fell ;  and  perhaps  there  was  the  slightest  flush 
of  embarrassment,  or  pleasure,  on  the  pale,  handsome  face. 

But  how  quickly  her  spirits  rose  !  There  was  no  more  talk 
of  politics  as  they  neared  England.  He  described  the  suc- 
cessive ships  to  her ;  he  called  her  attention  to  the  strings  of 
wild-duck  flying  up  Channel;  he  named  the  various  head- 
lands to  her.  Then,  as  they  got  nearer  and  nearer,  the  lit- 
tle Anneli  had  to  be  sought  out,  and  the  various  travelling  im- 
pedimenta got  together.  It  did  not  occur  to  Mr.  Lincl  or  his 
daughter  as  strange  that  George  Brand  should  be  travelling 
without  any  luggage  whatever. 

But  surely  it  must  have  occurred  to  them  as  remarkable 
that  a  bachelor  should  have  had  a  saloon-carriage  reserved 
for  himself — unless,  indeed,  they  reflected  that  a  rich  Eng- 
lishman was  capable  of  any  whimsical  extravagance.  Then, 
no  sooner  had  Miss  Lind  entered  this  carriage,  than  it  seemed 
as  though  everything  she  could  think  of  was  being  brought 
for  her.  Such  flowers  did  not  grow  in  railway-stations — 
especially  in  the  month  of  March.  Had  the  fruit  dropped 
from  the  telegraph-poles  ?  Cakes,  wine,  tea,  magazines  and 
newspapers  appeared  to  come  without  being  asked  for. 

"  Mr.  Brand,"  said    Natalie,    "you    must    be    an    English 


A  DISCOVERY.  55 

Monte  Cristo :  do  you  clap  your  hands,  and  the  things  ap- 
pear?" 

But  a  Monte  Cristo  should  never  explain.  The  conjuror 
who  reveals  his  mechanism  is  no  longer  a  conjuror.  George 
Brand  only  laughed,  and  said  he  hoped  Miss  Lind  would 
always  find  people  ready  to  welcome  her  when  she  reached 
English  shores. 

As  they  rattled  along  through  those  shining  valleys — the 
woods  and  fields  and  homesteads  all  glowing  in  the  afternoon 
sun — she  had  put  aside  her  travelling-cloak  and  hood,  for  the 
air  was  quite  mild.  Was  it  the  drawing  off  of  the  hood,  or 
the  stir  of  wind  on  board  the  steamer,  that  had  somewhat  dis- 
arranged her  hair? — at  all  events,  here  and  there  about  her 
small  ear  or  the  shapely  neck  there  was  an  escaped  curl  of 
raven-black.  She  had  taken  off  her  gloves, 'too:  her  hands, 
somewhat  large,  were  of  a  beautiful  shape,  and  transparently 
white.  The  magazines  and  newspapers  received  not  much  at- 
tention— except  from  Mr.  Lind,  who  .said  that  at  last  he 
should  see  some  news  neither  a  week  old  nor  fictitious.  As 
for  these  other  two,  they  seemed  to  find  a  wonderful  lot  to 
talk  about,  and  all  of  a  profoundly  interesting  character. 
With  a  sudden  shock  of  disappointment  George  Brand  found 
that  they  were  almost  into  London. 

His  hand-bag  was  at  once  passed  by  the  custom-house  peo- 
ple ;  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  say  good-bye.  His  face 
was  not  over-cheerful. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  lucky  meeting,"  Mr.  Lind  said.  "  Natalie 
ought  to  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  her." 

"Yes;  but  not  here,"  said  the  girl,  and  she  turned  to  him. 
"  Mr.  Brand,  people  who  have  travelled  so  far  together  should 
not  part  so  quickly  :  it  is  miserable.  Will  you  not  come  and 
spend  the  evening  with  us  ?  " 

"  Natalie  will  give  us  something  in  the  way  of  an  early  din- 
ner," said  Mr.  Lind,  "  and  then  you  can  make  her  play  the 
zither  for  you." 

Well,  there  was  not  much  hesitation  abont  his  accepting. 
That  drawing-room,  with  its  rose-and-green-shaded  candles, 
was  not  as  other  drawing-rooms  in  the  evening.  In  that 
room  you  could  hear  the-fountains  plashing  in  the  Villa  Reale, 
and  the  Capri  fishermen  singing  afar,  and  the.  cattle-bells 
chiming  on  the  Campagna,  and  the  gondolas  sending  their 
soft  chorus  across  the  lagoon.  When  Brand  left  his  bag  in 
the  cloak-room  at  the  station  he  gave  the  porter  half  a  crown 
for  earring  it  thither,  which  was  unnecessary.  Nor  was  there 
#ny  hopeless  apathy  on  his  face  as  he  drove  away  with  these 


56  SUXKISE. 

two  friends  through  the  darkening  afternoon,  in  the  little 
hired  brougham.  When  they  arrived  in  Curzon  Street,  he 
was  even  good  enough  to  assist  the  timid  little  Anneli  to 
descend  from  the  box ;  but  this  was  in  order  that  he  might 
slip  a  tip  into  the  hand  of  the  coachman.  The  coachman 
scarcely  said  "  Thank  you."  It  was  not  until  afterward  that 
he  discovered  he  had  put  half  a  sovereign  into  his  breeches- 
pocket  as  if  it  were  an  ordinary  sixpence. 

Natalie  Lind  came  down  to  dinner  in  a  dress  of  black  vel- 
vet, with  a  mob-cap  of  jose-red  silk.  Round  her  neck  she 
wore  a  band  of  Venetian  silver-work,  from  the  centre  of 
which  was  suspended  the  little  old-fashioned  locket  she  had 
received  in  Hyde  Park.  George  Brand  remembered  the 
story,  and  perhaps  was  a  trifle  surprised  that  she  should  wear 
so  conspicuously  the  gift  of  a  stranger. 

She  was  very  friendly,  and  very  cheerful.  She  did  not 
seem  at  all  fatigued  with  her  travelling ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
was  probably  the  sea-air  and  the  sunlight  that  had  lent  to 
her  cheek  a  faint  flush  of  color.  But  at  the  end  of  dinner 
her  father  said. 

"  Natalushka,  if  we  go  into  the  drawing-room,  and  listen 
to  music,  after  so  long  a  day,  we  shall  all  go  to  sleep.  You 
must  come  into  the  smoking-room  with  us." 

"  Very  well,  papa." 

"  But,  Miss  Lind,"  the  other  gentleman  remonstrated,  "  a 
velvet  dress — tobacco-smoke — " 

"  My  dresses  must  take  their  chance,"  said  Miss  Lind.  "  I 
wear  them  to  please  my  friends,  not  to  please  chance  acquaint- 
ances who  may  call  during  the  day." 

And  so  they  retired  to  the  little  den  at  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage ;  and  Natalie  handed  Mr.  Brand  a  box  of  cigacs^  to 
choose  from,  and  got  down  from  the  rack  her  father's  long- 
stemmed,  red-bowled  pipe.  Then  she  took  a  seat  in  the 
corner  by  the  fire,  and  listened. 

The  talk  was  all  about  that  anarchical  literature  that 
Brand  had  been  devouring  down  at  Dover  ;  and  he  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  little  sympathy  Lind  had  with  writing  of 
that  kind,  though  he  had  to  confess  that  certain  of  the  writ- 
ers were  personal  friends  of  his  own.  Natalie  sat  silent, 
listening  intently,  and  staring  into  the  fire. 

At  last  Brand  said, 

"  Of  course,  I  had  other  books.  For  example,  one  I  see 
on  your  shelves  there."  He  rose,  and  took  down  the  "  Songs 
before  Sunrise."  "  Miss  Lind,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you 
will  lau^h  at  rne  ;  but  I  have  been  haunted  with  the  notion 


A  DISCOVERY. 


57 


that  you  have  been  teaching  Lord  Evelyn  how  to  read  poetry, 
or  that  he  has  been  unconsciously  imitating  you.  I  heard 
him  repeat  some  passages  from  *  The  Pilgrims,'  and  I  was 
convinced  he  was  reproducing  something  he  had  heard  from 
you.  Well — I  am  almost  ashamed  to  ask  you — 

A  touch  of  embarrassment  appeared  on  the  girl's  face,  and 
she  glanced  at  her  father. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Natalie  ;  why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  I  cannot  read  if  I  am  stared  at. 
You  must  remain  as  you  are." 

She  took  the  book  from  him,  and  passed  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  so  that  she  was  behind  them  both.  There  was 
silence  for  an  instant  or  two  as  she  turned  over  the  leaves. 

Then  the  silence  was  broken ;  and  if  Brand  was  instantly 
assured  that  his  surmise  was  correct,  he  also  knew  that  here 
was  a  more  pathetic  cadence — a  prouder  ring — than  any 
that  Lord  Evelyn  had  thrown  into  the  lines.  She  read  at 
random — a  passage  here,  a  passage  there — but  always  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  herald  pro- 
claiming the  new  awakening  of  the  world — the  evil  terrors  of 
the  night  departing — the  sunlight  of  liberty  and  right  and 
justice  beginning  to  shine  over  the  sea.  And  these  appeals 
to  England  1 

"  Oh  thou,  clothed  round  with  raiment  of  white  waves, 

Thy  brave  brows  lightening  through  the  gray  wet  air, 
Thou,  lulled  with  sea-sounds  of  a  thousand  caves, 

And  lit  with  sea-shine  to  thy  inland  lair, 
Whose  freedom  clothed  the  naked  souls  of  slaves 
And  stripped  the  muffled  souls  of  tyrants  bare, 
Oh,  by  the  centuries  of  thy  glorious  graves, 
By  the  live  light  of  the  earth  that  was  thy  care, 
Live,  thou  must  not  be  dead, 
Live ;  let  thy  armed  head 
Lift  itself  up  to  sunward  and  the  fair 
Daylight  of  time  and  man, 
Thine  head  republican, 
With  the  same  splendor  on  thine  helmless  hair 

That  in  his  eyes  kept  up  a  light 
Who  on  thy  glory  gazed  away  their  sacred  sight." 

The  cry  there  was  in  this  voice  !    Surely  his  heart  answered, 
"  Oh  Milton's  land,  what  ails  thee  to  be  dead !  " 

Was  it  in  this  very  room,  he  wondered,  that  the  old  Polish 
refugee  was  used  to  lift  up  his  trembling  hand  and  bid  his 
compatriots  drink  to  "  the  white  chalk-line  beyond  the  sea  ?  '* 


5?  SUNRISE. 

How  could  he  forget,  as  he  and  she  sat  together  that  morn- 
ing, and  gazed  across  the  blue  waters  to  the  far  and  sunlit 
line  of  coast,  the  light  that  shone  on  her  face  as  she  said,  "  If 
I  were  English,  how  proud  I  should  be  of  England !  "  And 
this  England  of  her  veneration  and  her  love — did  it  not  con- 
tain some,  at  least,  who  would  answer  to  her  appeal  ? 

Presently  Natalie  Lind  shut  the  book  and  gently  laid  it 
down,  and  stole  out  of  the  room.  She  was  gone  only  for  a 
few  seconds.  When  she  returned,  she  had  in  her  hand  a 
volume  of  sketches,  of  which  she  had  been  speaking  during 
dinner. 

He  did  not  open  this  volume  at  once.  On  the  contrary, 
he  was  silent  for  a  little  while  ;  and  then  he  looked  up,  and 
addressed  Natalie,  with  a  strange  grave  smile  on  his  face. 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  your  father,  Miss  Lind,  when  you 
came  in,  that  if  I  could  not  translate  for  you,  or  carry  a  mes- 
sage across  the  Atlantic  for  him,  he  might  at  least  find  some- 
thing else  that  I  can  do.  At  all  events,  may  I  say  that  I  am 
willing  to  join  you,  if  I  can  be  of  any  help  at  all  ?  " 

Ferdinand  Lind  regarded  him  for  a  second,  and  said,  quite 
calmly, 

"  It  is  unnecessary.     You  have  already  joined  us." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   NIGHT   IN   VENICE. 

THE  solitary  occupant  of  this  railway-carnage  was  appar- 
ently reading ;  but  all  the  same  he  looked  oftener  at  his 
watch  than  at  his  book.  At  length  he  definitely  shut  the 
volume  and  placed  it  in  his  travelling-bag.  Then  he  let  down 
the  carriage-window,  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 

The  heavens  were  clear  and  calm ;  the  newly-risen  moon 
was  but  a  thin  crescent  of  silver ;  in  the  south  a  large  planet 
was  shining^,  All  around  him,  as  it  seemed,  stretched  a  vast 
plain  of  water,  as  dark  and  silent  and  serene  as  the  overarch- 
ing sky.  Then,  far  ahead,  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  pale 
line  stretching  across  the  watery  plain — a  curve  of  the  many- 
arched  viaduct  along  which  the  train  was  thundering ;  and 
beyond  that  again,  and  low  down  at  the  horizon,  two  or  three 
minute  and  dusky  points  of  orange.  These  lights  were  the 
lights  of  Venice. 

This    traveller   was   not    much    hampered   with    luggage. 


A  NIGHT  IN  VENICE.  59 

When  finally  the  train  was  driven  into  the  glare  of  the  station, 
and  the  usual  roar  and  confusion  began,  he  took  his  small 
bag  in  his  hand  and  rapidly  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  ; 
then  out  and  down  the  broad  stone  steps,  and  into  a  gondola. 
In  a  couple  of  minutes  he  was  completely  away  from  all  that 
glare  and  bustle  and  noise ;  nothing  around  him  but  dark- 
ness and  an  absolute  silence. 

The  city  seemed  as  the  City  of  the  Dead.  The  tall  and 
sombre  buildings  on  each  side  of  the  water-highway  were 
masses  of  black — blackest  of  all  where  they  showed  against 
the  stars.  The  ear  sought  in  vain  for  any  sound  of  human 
life  ;  there  was  nothing  but  the  lapping  of  the  water  along 
the  side  of  the  boat,  and  the  slow,  monotonous  plash  of  the 
oar. 

Father  and  farther  into  the  silence  and  the  darkness ;  and 
now  here  and  there  a  window,  close  down  to  the  water,  and 
heavily  barred  with  rectangular  bars  of  iron,  shows  a  dull  red 
light ;  but  there  is  no  sound,  nor  any  passing  shadow  within. 
The  man  who  is  standing  by  the  hearse-like  cabin  of  the 
gondola  observes  and  thinks.  These  black  buildings ;  the 
narrow  and  secret  canals ;  the  stillness  of  the  night :  are 
they  not  suggestive  enough — of  revenge,  a  quick  blow,  and 
the  silence  of  the  grave  ?  And  now,  as  the  gondola  still 

f'ides  on,  there  is  heard  a  slow  and  distant  tolling  of  bells, 
he  Deed  is  done,  then  ? — no  longer  will  the  piteous  hands 
be  thrust  out  of  the  barred  window — no  longer  will  the  wild 
cry  for  help  startle  the  passer-by  in  the  night-time.  And  now 
again,  as  the  gondola  goes  on  its  way,  another  sound — still 
more  muffled  and  indistinct — the  sound  of  a  church  organ, 
with  the  solemn  chanting  of  voices.  Are  they  praying  for 
the  soul  of  the  dead  ?  The  sound  becomes  more  and  more 
distant ;  the  gondola  goes  on  its  way. 

The  new-comer  has  no  further  time  for  these  idle  fancies. 
At  the  Rialto  bridge  he  stops  the  gondola,  pays  the  man,  and 
goes  ashore.  Then,  rapidly  ascending  the  steps,  he  crosses 
the  bridge,  descends  the  other  side,  and  again  jumps  into  a 
gondola.  All  this  the  work  of  a  few  seconds. 

But  it  was  obvious  he  had  been  expected.  He  gave  no 
instructions  to  the  two  men  in  this  second  gondola.  They 
instantly  went  to  work,  and  with  a  rapid  and  powerful  stroke 
sent  the  boat  along — with  an  occasional  warning  cry  as  they 
swept  by  the  entrance  to  one  or  other  of  the  smaller  canals. 
Finally,  they  abruptly  left  the  Grand  Canal,  close  by  the 
Corte  d'Appello,  and  shot  into  a  narrow  opening  that  seemed 
little  more  than  a  slit  between  th^  buildings. 


60  SUA'R/SE. 

Here  they  had  to  go  more  cautiously ;  the  orange  light  of 
their  lamp  shining  as  they  passed  on  the  empty  archways, 
and  on  the  iron-barred  windows,  and  slimy  steps.  And  al- 
ways this  strange  silence  in  the  dead  or  sleeping  city,  and 
the  monotonous  plash  of  the  oars,  and  the  deep  low  cry  of 
"  Sia  premi ! "  or  "Sia  stall!"  to  give  warning  of  their  ap- 
proach. But,  indeed,  that  warning  was  unnecessary;  they 
were  absolutely  alone  in  this  labyrinth  of  gloomy  water-ways. 

At  length  they  shot  beneath  a  low  bridge,  and  stopped  at 
some  steps  immediately  beyond.  Here  one  of  the  men,  get- 
ting out,  proceeded  to  act  as  guide  to  the  stranger.  They 
had  not  far  to  go.  They  passed  first  of  all  into  a  long,  low, 
and  foul-smelling  archway,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a 
narrow  aperture  protected  by  an  iron  gate.  The  man  lit  a 
candle,  opened  the  gate,  and  preceded  his  companion  along 
a  passage  and  up  a  stone  staircase.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
place  was  damp  and  sickly ;  the  stair-case  was  not  more  than 
three  feet  in  width ;  the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  candle  did  but 
little  to  dispel  the  darkness.  Even  that  was  withdrawn  ;  for 
the  guide,  having  knocked  thrice  at  a  door,  blew  out  the  can- 
dle, and  retreated  down-stairs. 

"  The  night  is  dark,  brother:' 

"  The  daiun  is  near" 

Instantly  the  door  was  thrown  open  ;  the  dark  figure  of  a 
man  was  seen  against  the  light ;  he  said,  "  Come  in !  come 
in  !  "  and  his  hand  was  outstretched.  The  stranger  seemed 
greatly  surprised. 

*'  What,  you,  Calabress'a  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Your  time  has 
not  yet  expired  !  " 

"What,  no?  My  faith,  I  have  made  it  expire!"  said  the 
other,  airily,  and  introducing  a  rather  badly  pronounced 
French  word  or  two  into  his  Italian.  "  But  come  in,  come 
in  ;  take  a  seat.  You  are  early  ;  you  may  have  to  wait." 

He  was  an  odd-looking  person,  this  tall,  thin,  elderly  man, 
with  the  flowing  yellowwvhite  hair  and  the  albino  eyes.  There 
was  a  semi-military  look  about  his  braided  coat ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  wore  the  cap  of  a  German  student — of  purple 
velvet,  with  a  narrow  leather  peak.  He  seemed  to  be  proud 
of  his  appearance.  He  had  a  gay  manner. 

"Yes,  I  am  escaped.  Ah,  how  fine  it  is!  You  walk 
about  all  day  as  you  please  ;  you  smoke  cigarettes  ;  you  have 
your  coffee  ;  you  go  to  look  at  the  young  English  ladies  who 
come  to  feed  the  pigeons  in  the  place." 

He  raised  two  ringers  to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  kiss  to  all  the 
world. 


A  NIGHT  IN  VENICE.  61 

"  Such  complexions !  A  wild  rose  in  every  cheek  !  But 
listen,  now ;  this  is  not  about  an  English  young  lady.  I  go 
up  to  the  Church  of  St.  Mark — besides  the  bronze  horses. 
I  am  enjoying  the  air,  when  I  hear  a  sound ;  I  turn ;  over 
there  I  see  open  windows ;  ah  !  the  figure  in  the  white  dress- 
ing-gown !  It  is  the  diva  herself.  They  play  the  Barbiere 
to-night,  and  she  is  practicing  as  she  dusts  her  room.  Una 
vocepocofa — it  thrills  all  through  the  square.  She  puts  the 
ornaments  on  the  mantel-piece  straight.  Lo  giurai,  la  vincero  ! 
— she  goes  to  the  mirror  and  makes  the  most  beautiful  atti- 
tude. Ah,  what  a  spectacle — the  black  hair  all  down — the 
white  dressing-gown — In  sono  docile  " — and  again  he  kissed 
his  two  fingers.  Then  he  said, 

"  But  now,  you.  You  do  not  look  one  day  older.  And 
how  is  Natalie  ?  " 

"  Natalie  is  well,  I  believe,"  said  the  other,  gravely. 

"  You  are  a  strange  man.  You  have  not  a  soft  heart  for 
the  pretty  creatures  of  the  world ;  you  are  implacable.  The 
little  Natalushka,  then  ;  how  is  she  ?  " 

"  The  little  Natalushka  is  grown  big  now ;  she  is  quite  a 
woman." 

"  A  woman  !  She  will  marry  an  Englishman,  and  become 
very  rich  :  is  not  that  so?  " 

"  Natalie — I  mean,  Natalushka  will  not  marry,"  said  the 
other  coldly.  "  She  knows  she  is  very  useful  to  me.  She 
knows  I  have  no  other." 

"  Maintenant :  the  business — how  goes  that  ?  " 

"  Elsewhere,  well ;  in  England,  not  quite  so  well,"  said 
Ferdinand  Lind.  "  But  what  can  you  expect  ?  The  English 
think  they  have  no  need  of  co-operation,  except  to  get  their 
groceries  cheap.  Why,  everything  is  done  in  the  open  air 
there.  If  a  scoundrel  gets  a  lash  too  many  in  prison,  you 
have  it  before  Parliament  next  week.  If  a  school-boy  is 
kicked  by  his  master,  you  have  all  the  newspapers  in  the 
country  ablaze.  The  newspapers  govern  England.  A  penny 
journal  has  more  power  than  the  commander-in-chief." 

"  Then  why  do  you  remain  in  England  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  safest  for  me,  personally.  Then  there  is  most 
to  be  done  there.  Again,  it  is  the  head-quarters  of  money. 
Do  you  see,  Calabressa?  One  must  have  money,  or  one 
cannot  work." 

The  albino-looking  man  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  You  despair,  then,  of  England  ?     No,  you  never  despair." 

"  There  is  a  prospect.  The  Southern  Englishman  is  apa- 
thetic ;  he  is  interested  only,  as  I  have  said,  in  getting  his 


62  SUNRISE. 

tea  and  sugar  cheap.  But  the  Northern  Englishman  is  vig- 
orous. The  trades'  associations  in  the  North  are  vast,  pow- 
erful, wealthy ;  but  they  are  suspicious  of  anything  foreign. 
Members  join  us  ;  the  associations  will  not.  But  what  do 
you  think  of  this,  Calabressa :  if  one  were  to  have  the  assist- 
ance of  an  Englishman  whose  father  was  one  of  the  great 
iron-masters ;  whose  name  is  well  known  in  the  north ;  who 
has  a  large  fortune,  and  a  strong  will  ?  " 

"  You  have  got  such  a  man  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  He  is  only  a  Friend.  But  if  I  do  not  misjudge 
him,  he  will  be  a  Companion  soon.  He  is  a  man  after  my 
own  heart ;  once  with  us,  all  the  powers  of  the  earth  will  not 
turn  him  back." 

"  And  his  fortune  ? " 

"  He  will  help  us  with  that  also,  no  doubt." 

"  But  how  did  it  occur  to  Providence  to  furnish  you  with 
an  assistant  so  admirably  equipped  ? " 

"  Do  you  mean  how  did  I  chance  to  find  him  ?  Through 
a  young  English  lord — an  amiable  youth,  who  is  a  great 
friend  of  Natalie's — of  Natalushka's.  Why,  he  has  joined 
us,  too — " 

"  An  English  milord  !  " 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  merely  from  poetical  sympathy.  He  is 
pleasant  and  warm-hearted,  but  to  us  not  valuable ;  and  he 
is  poor." 

At  this  moment  a  bell  rung,  apparently  in  the  adjoining 
apartment.  Calabressa  jumped  from  his  chair,  and  hastened 
to  a  door  on  his  left,  which  he  opened  A  portiere  prevented 
anything  being  seen  in  the  chamber  beyond. 

"  Has  the  summons  been  answered  ?  "  a  voice  asked,  from 
the  other  side. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Calabressa.     "  Brother  Lind  is  here." 

"  That  is  well." 

The  door  was  again  shut,  and  Calabressa  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Brother  Lind,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  though  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  and  still  preserved  that  gay  manner,  "  I 
suppose  you  do  not  know  why  you  have  been  summoned  ?  " 

"  Not  I." 

"  Bien.  But  suppose  one  were  to  guess  ?  Suppose  there 
is  a  gentleman  somewhere  about  who  has  been  carrying  his 
outraging  of  one's  common  notions  of  decency  just  a  little 
too  far  ?  Suppose  it  is  necessaiy  to  make  an  example  ?  You 
may  be  noble,  and  have  great  wealth,  and  honor,  and  smiles 
from  beautiful  women  ;  but  if  some  night  you  find  a  little  bit 
of  steel  getting  into  your  heart,  or  if  some  morning  you  find 


A  NIGHT  IN  VENICE.  63 

your  coffee  as  you  drink  it  burn  all  the  way  down  until  you 
can  feel  it  burn  no  more — what  then  ?  You  must  bid  good- 
bye to  your  mistresses,  and  to  your  gold  plates  and  feasts, 
and  your  fountains  spouting  perfumes,  and  all  your  titles  ;  is 
not  that  so  ? " 

"  But  who  is  it  ?  "  said  Lind,  suddenly  bending  forward. 
-     The  other  regarded  him  for  a  moment,  playfully. 

"What  if  I  were  to  mention  the  '  Starving  Cardinal'} ' ' 

"  Zaccatelli !  "  exclaimed  Lind,  with  a  ghastly  pallor  ap- 
pearing for  a  moment  in  the  powerful  iron-gray  face. 

Calabressa  only  laughed. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  beautiful  to  have  all  these  fine  things.  And 
the  unhappy  devils  who  are  forced  to  pawn  their  last  sticks 
of  furniture  at  the  Monte  di  Pieta,  rather  than  have  their, 
children  starve  when  bread  is  dear;  how  it  must  gratify  them 
to  think  of  his  Eminence  seizing  the  funds  of  that  flourishing 
institution  to  buy  up  the  whole  of  the  grain  in  the  Papal 
States  !  What  an  admirable  speculation  !  How  kind  to  the 
poor,  on  the  part  of  the  Secretary  to  the  Vicar  of  Christ ! 
What ! — do  you  think  because  I  am  a  cardinal  I  am  not 
to  make  a  profit  in  corn  ?  I  tell  you  those  people  have  no 
business  to  be  miserable — they  have  no  business  to  go  and 
pawn  their  things ;  if  I  am  allowed  to  speculate  with  the 
funds,  why  not  ?  Allans  done! — It  is  a  devilish  fine  world, 
merry  gentlemen  !  " 

"  But — but  why  have  they  summoned  me  ?  "  Lind  said,  in 
the  same  low  voice. 

"  Who  knows  ? "  said  the  other,  lightly.  "  I  do  not. 
Come,  tell  me  more  about  the  little  Natalushka.  Ah,  do  I 
not  remember  the  little  minx,  when  she  came  in,  after  din- 
ner, among  all  those  men,  with  her  '  Eljen  a  haza  ! '  What 
has  she  grown  to  ?  what  has  she  become  ? " 

"Natalie  is  a  good  girl,"  said  her  father;  but  he  was 
thinking  of  other  things. 

"  Beautiful  ? " 

"  Some  would  say  so." 

"  But  not  like  the  English  young  ladies  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.3' 

"  I  thought  not.  I  remember  the  black-eyed  little  one — 
with  her  pride  in  Batthyany,  and  her  hatred  in  Gorgey,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  The  little  Empress ! — with  her  proud  eyes, 
and  her  black  eyelashes.  Do  you  remember  at  Dunkirk, 
when  old  Anton  Pepe?inski  met  her  for  the  first  time  ? 
'  Little  Natalushka,  if  I  wait  for  you,  will  you  marry  me  when 
you  grow  up  1 '  Then  the  quick  answer,  '  /  am  not  to  be 


64  SUNXISE. 

called  any  longer  by  my  nursery  name  ;  but  if  you  will  fight 
for  my  country,  I  will  marry  you  when  I  grow  up?  " 

Light-hearted  as  this  man  Calabressa  was,  having  escaped 
from  prison,  and  eagerly  inclined  for  chatter,  after  so  long  a 
spell  of  enforced  silence,  he  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that 
his  companion  was  hardly  listening  to  him. 

"  Mais,  mon  frere,  a  quoi  bon  le  regarder  ?  "  he  said,  peev- 
ishly. "  If  it  must  come,  it  will  come.  Or  is  it  the  poor 
cardinal  you  pity  ?  That  was  a  good  name  they  invented 
for  him,  anyway — ilcardinale  affamatore" 

Again  the  bell  rung,  and  Ferdinand  Lind  started.  When 
he  turned  to  the  door,  it  was  with  a  look  on  his  face  of  some 
anxiety  and  apprehension — a  look  but  rarely  seen  there. 
Then  the  portiere  was  drawn  aside  to  let  some  one  come 
through  :  at  the  same  moment  Lind  caught  a  brief  glimpse 
of  a  number  of  men  sitting  round  a  small  table. 

The  person  who  now  appeared,  and  whom  Lind  saluted 
with  great  respect,  was  a  little,  sallow-complexioned  man, 
with  an  intensely  black  beard  and  mustache,  and  a  worn  ex- 
pression of  face.  He  returned  Lind's  salutation  gravely,  and 
said, 

"  Brother,  the  Council  thank  you  for  your  prompt  answer 
to  the  summons.  Meanwhile,  nothing  is  decided.  You  will 
attend  here  to-morrow  night." 

"  At  what  hour,  Brother  Granaglia  ?  " 

"  Ten.  You  will  now  be  conveyed  back  to  the  Rialto 
steps ;  from  thence  you  can  get  to  your  hotel." 

Lind  bowed  acquiescence ;  and  the  stranger  passed  again 
through  the  portiere  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  X. 

VACILLATION. 

"  EVELYN,  I  distrust  that  man  Lind." 

The  speaker  was  George  Brand,  who  kept  impatiently  pac- 
ing up  and  down  those  rooms  of  his,  while  his  friend,  with  a 
dreamy  look  on  the  pale  and  line  face,  lay  back  in  an  easy- 
chair,  and  gazed  out  of  the  clear  panes  before  him.  It  was 
night ;  the  blinds  had  not  been  drawn  ;  and  the  row  of  win- 
dows, framed  by  their  scarlet  curtains,  seemed  a  series  of 
dark-blue  pictures,  all  throbbing  with  points  of  golden  fire. 

"  Is  there  any  one  you  do  not  distrust  ? "  said  Lord  Evelyn, 
absently. 


VACILLATION.  65 

"  I  hope  so.  But  with  regard  to  Lind :  I  had  distinctly 
to  let  him  know  he  must  not  assume  that  I  am  mixed  up  in 
any  of  his  schemes  until  I  definitely  say  so.  When,  in  an- 
swer to  my  vague  proposal,  he  told  me  I  had  already  pledged 
myself,  I  confess  I  was  startled  for  a  moment.  Of  course  it 
was  all  very  well  for  him  afterward  to  speak  of  my  declared 
sympathy,  and  of  my  promise  to  reveal  nothing,  as  being 
quite  enough,  at  least  for  the  earlier  stage.  If  that  is  so,  you 
may  easily  acquire  adherents.  But  either  I  join  with  a  defi- 
nite pledge,  or  not  at  all." 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  you  had  better  not  join,"  said 
Lord  Evelyn,  calmly. 

After  that  there  was  silence  ;  and  Brand's  companion  lay  and 
looked  on  the  picture  outside,  that  was  so  dark  and  solemn 
and  still.  In  the  midst  of  all  that  blaze  of  various  and  trem- 
bling lights  was  the  unseen  river — unseen  but  for  the  myriad 
reflections  that  showed  the  ripples  of  the  water ;  then  the  far- 
reaching  rows  of  golden  stars,  spanning  the  bridges,  and 
marking  out  the  long  Embankment  sweep  beyond  St. 
Thomas's  Hospital.  On  the  other  side  black  masses  of  houses 
— all  their  commonplace  detail  lost  in  the  mysterious  shadow  ; 
and  over  them  the  silver  crescent  of  the  moon  just  strong 
enough  to  give  an  edge  of  white  to  a  tall  shot-tower.  Then 
far  away  in  the  east,  in  the  clear  dark  sky,  the  dim  gray 
ghost  of  a  dome  ;  scarcely  visible,  and  yet  revealing  its  pres- 
ence ;  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's. 

This  beautiful,  still  scene — the  silence  was  so  intense  that 
the  footfall  of  a  cab-horse  crossing  Waterloo  Bridge  could 
be  faintly  heard,  as  the  eye  followed  the  light  slowly  moving 
between  the  two  rows  of  golden  stars — seemed  to  possess 
but  little  interest  for  the  owner  of  these  rooms.  For  the 
moment  he  had  lost  altogether  his  habitual  air  of  proud  re- 
serve. 

"Evelyn,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "was  it  not  in  these  very 
rooms  you  insisted  that,  if  the  work  was  good,  one  need  not 
be  too  scrupulous  about  one's  associates  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  other,  indifferently :  he  had  al- 
most lost  hope  of  ever  overcoming  his  friend's  inveterate 
suspicion. 

"  Well,"  Brand  said,  "  there  is  something  in  that.  I  be- 
lieve in  the  work  that  Lind  is  engaged  in,  if  I  am  doubtful 
about  him.  And  if  it  pleases  you  or  him  to  say  that  I  have 
joined  you  merely  because  I  express  sympathy,  and  promise 
to  say  nothing,  well  and  good.  But  you  :  you  are  more  than 
that  ? " 


66  SUNRISE. 

The  question  somewhat  startled  Lord  Evelyn  ;  and  his 
pale  face  flushed  a  little. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said  ;  "  of  course.  I — I  cannot  precisely 
explain  to  you." 

"  I  understand.  But,  if  I  did  really  join,  I  should  at  least 
have  you  for  a  companion." 

Lord  Evelyn  turned  and  regarded  him. 

"  If  you  were  to  join,  it  might  be  that  you  and  I  should 
never  see  each  other  again  in  this  world.  Have  I  not  told 
you  ? — Your  first  pledge  is  that  of  absolute  obedience  ;  you 
have  no  longer  a  right  to  your  own  life  ;  you  become  a  slave, 
that  others  may  be  free." 

"  And  you  would  have  me  place  myself  in  the  power  of  a 
man  like  Lind  ?  "  Brand  exclaimed. 

"  If  it  were  necessary,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  "  I  should  hold 
myself  absolutely  at  the  bidding  of  Lind ;  for  I  am  con- 
vinced he  is  an  honest  man,  as  he  is  a  man  of  great  ability 
and  unconquerable  energy  and  will.  But  you  would  no  more 
put  yourself  in  Lind's  power  than  in  mine.  Lind  is  a  ser- 
vant, like  the  rest  of  us.  It  is  true  he  has  in  some  ways  a 
sort  of  quasi-independent  position,  which  I  don't  quite  un- 
derstand ;  but  as  regards  the  Society  that  I  have  joined,  and 
that  you  would  join,  he  is  a  servant,  as  you  would  be  a  servant. 
But  what  is  the  use  of  talking  ?  Your  temperament  isn't 
fitted  for  this  kind  of  work." 

"  I  want  to  see  my  way  clear,"  Brand  said,  almost  to  him- 
self. 

"  Ah,  that  is  just  it ;  whereas,  you  must  go  blindfold." 

Thereafter  again  silence.  The  moon  had  risen  higher 
now  ;  and  the  paths  in  the  Embankment  gardens  just  below 
them  had  grown  gray  in  the  clearer  light.  Lord  Evelyn  lay 
and  watched  the  light  of  a  hansom  that  was  rattling  along 
by  the  side  of  the  river. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Brand,  with  a  smile,  "  your  re- 
peating some  verses  here  one  night ;  and  my  suspecting  you 
had  borrowed  the  inspiration  somewhere  ?  My  boy,  I  have 
found  you  out.  What  I  guessed  was  true.  I  made  bold  to 
ask  Miss  Lind  to  read,  that  evening  I  came  up  with  them 
from  Dover." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  quietly. 

"  You  have  seen  her,  then  ?  "  was  the  quick  question. 

"  No  ;  she  wrote  to  me." 

"  Oh,  she  writes  to  you  ?  "  the  other  said. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  did  not  know  her  father  had  gone  abroad, 
and  I  called.  As  a  rule,  she  sees  no  one  while  her  father  is 


VACILLATION.  67 

away  ;  on  the  other  hand,  she  will  not  say  she  is  not  at  home 
if  she  is  at  home.  So  she  wrote  me  a  note  of  apology  for  re- 
fusing to  see  me  ;  and  in  it  she  told  me  you  had  been  very 
kind  to  them,  and  how  she  had  tried  to  read,  and  had  read 
very  badly,  because  she  feared  your  criticism — " 

"  I  never  heard  anything  like  it  !  "  Brand  said  ;  and  then 
he  corrected  himself.  "  Well,  yes,  I  have  ;  I  have  heard  you, 
Evelyn.  You  have  been  an  admirable  pupil." 

"  Now  when  I  think  of  it,"  said  his  friend",  putting  his 
hand  in  his  breast-pocket,  "  this  letter  is  mostly  about  you, 
Brand.  Let  me  see  if  there  is  anything  in  it  you  may  not 
see.  No  ;  it  is  all  very  nice  and  friendly." 

He  was  about  to  hand  over  the  letter,  when  he  stopped. 

"  I  do  believe,"  he  said,  looking  at  Brand,  "  that  you  are 
capable  of  thinking  Natalie  wrote  this  letter  on  purpose  you 
should  see  it." 

"  Then  you  do  me  a  great  injustice,"  Brand  said,  without 
anger.  "  And  you  do  her  a  great  injustice.  I  do  not  think 
it  needs  any  profoundj  udge  of  character  to  see  what  that 
girl  is." 

"  For  that  is  one  thing  I  could  never  forgive  you,  Brand." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  If  you  were  to  suspect  Natalie  Lind." 

This  was  no  private  and  confidential  communication  that 
passed  into  Brand's  hand,  but  a  frank,  gossiping,  sisterly 
note,  stretching  out  beyond  its  initial  purpose.  And  there 
was  no  doubt  at  all  that  it  was  mostly  about  Brand  himself ; 
and  the  reader  grew  red  as  he  went  on.  He  had  been  so 
kind  to  them  at  Dover  ;  and  so  interested  in  her  papa's  work ; 
and  so  anxious  to  be  of  service  and  in  sympathy  with  them. 
And  then  she  spoke  as  if  he  were  definitely  pledged  to  them  ; 
and  how  proud  she  was  to  have  another  added  to  the  list  of 
her  friends.  George  Brand's  face  was  as  red  as  his  beard 
when  he  folded  up  the  letter.  He  did  not  immediately  re- 
turn it. 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  that  is  !  "  said  he,  after  a  time. 
"  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  left  for  a  foreigner  to  teach  me 
to  believe  in  England." 

Lord  Evelyn  looked  up.   j 

"  Oh,"  Brand  said,  instantly,  "  I  know  what  you  would 
ask  :  *  What  is  my  belief  worth  ? '  (  How  much  do  I  sym- 
pathize ? '  Well,  I  can  give  you  a  plain  answer  :  a  shilling  in 
the  pound  income-tax.  If  England  is  this  stronghold  of  the 
liberties  of  Europe — if  it  is  her  business  to  be  the  lamp-bearer 
of  freedom — if  she  must  keep  her  shores  inviolate  as  the 


68 

refuge  of  those  who  are  oppressed  and  persecuted,  well,  then, 
I  would  pay  a  shilling  income-tax,  or  double  that,  treble  that, 
to  give  her  a  navy  that  would  sweep  the  seas.  For  a  big 
army  there  is  neither  population,  nor  sustenance,  nor  room  ; 
but  I  would  give  her  such  a  navy  as  would  let  her  put  the 
world  to  defiance." 

"  I  wish  Natalie  would  teach  you  to  believe  in  a  few  other 
things  while  she  is  about  it,"  said  his  friend,  with  a  slight  and 
rather  sad  smile. 

"  For  example  ?  " 

"  In  human  nature  a  little  bit,  for  example.  In  the  possi- 
bility of  a  woman  being  something  else  than  a  drawing-room 
peacock,  or  worse.  Do  you  think  she  could  make  you  be- 
lieve that  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  be  noble-minded,  un- 
selfish, truth-speaking,  modest,  and  loyal-hearted  ? " 

"  I  presume  you  are  describing  Natalie  Lind  herself." 

"  Oh,"  said  his  friend,  with  a  quick  surprise,  "  then  you 
admit  there  may  be  an  exception,  after  all  ?  You  do  not  con- 
demn the  whole  race  of  them  now,  as  being  incapable  of 
even  understanding  what  frank  dealing  is,  or  honor,  or  jus- 
tice, or  anything  beyond  their  own  vain  and  selfish  ca- 
prices ?  " 

George  Brand  went  to  the  window. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  "  my  experience  of  women  has  been 
unfortunate,  unusual.  I  have  not  had  much  chance,  espe- 
cially of  late  years,  of  studying  them  in  their  quiet  domestic 
spheres.  But  otherwise  I  suppose  my  experience  is  not  un- 
usual. Every  man  begins  his  life,  in  his  salad  days,  by  be- 
lieving the  world  to  be  a  very  fine  thing,  and  women  particu- 
larly to  .be  very  wonderful  creatures — angels,  in  short,  of 
goodness,  rand  mercy,  and  truth,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Then, 
judging  by  what  I  have  seen  and  heard,  I  should  say  that 
about  nineteen  ^men  out  of  twenty  get  a  regular  facer — just 
at  the  most  sensitive  period  of  their  life ;  and  then  they  sud- 
denly believe  that  women  are  devils,  and  the  world  a  delu- 
sion. It  is  bad  logic;  ?but  they  are  not  in  a  mood  for  reason. 
By-and-by  the  process  of  recovery  begins  :  with  some  short, 
with  others  long.  But  the ._ .spring-time  of  belief,  and  hope, 
and  rejoicing — I  doubt  whether  t^at  ever  comes  back." 

He  spoke  without  any  bitterness.  >ff  the  facts  of  the  world 
were  so,  they  had  to  be.  accepted.' 

"  I  swallowed  my  dose,  of  experience, a, good  many  years 
ago,"  he  continued,  "but  I  haven't  got  it*  p.ut  of  my  blood 
yet.  However,  I  will  admit  to  you  the  possibility  of  there  be- 
ing a  few  women  like  Natalie  Lind." 


VACILLATION.  69 

"  Well,  this  is  better,  at  all  events,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
cheerfully. 

"  Beauty,  of  course,  is  a  dazzling  and  dangerous  thing," 
Brand  said ;  "  for  a  man  always  wants  to  believe  that  fine 
eyes  and  a  sweet  voice  have  a  sweet  soul  behind  them.  And 
very  often  he  finds  behind  them  something  in  the  shape  of  a 
soul  that  a  dog  or  a  cat  would  be  ashamed  to  own.  But 
as  for  Natalie  Lind,  I  don't  think  one  can  be  deceived.  She 
shows  too  much.  She  vibrates  too  quickly — too  inadver- 
tently— to  little  chance  touches.  I  did  suspect  her,  I  will  con- 
fess. I  thought  she  was  hired  to  play  the  part  of  decoy. 
But  I  had  not  seen  her  for  ten  minutes  before  I  was  con- 
vinced she  was  playing  no  part  at  all." 

"  But  goodness  gracious,  Brand,  what  are  we  coming  to  ?  " 
Lord  Evelyn  said,  with  a  laugh.  "What !  We  already  be- 
lieve  in  England,  and  patriotism,  and  the  love  of  freedom  ? 
And  we  are  prepared  to  admit  that  there  is  one  woman — 
positively,  in  the  world,  one  woman — who  is  not  a  cheat  and 
a  selfish  coquette  ?  Why,  where  are  we  to  end  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  said  only  one  woman,"  Brand  replied, 
quite  good-naturedly ;  and  then  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
u  You  ask  where  we  are  to  end.  Suppose  I  were  to  accept 
your  new  religion,  Evelyn  ?  Would  that  please  you  ?  And 
would  it  please  her,  too  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  his  companion,  looking  up  with  a  quick  glance 
of  pleasure.  But  he  would  argue  no  more. 

M  Perhaps  I  have  been  too  suspicious.  It  is  a  habit ;  I  have 
had  to  look  after  myself  pretty  much  through  the  world  ;  and 
I  don't  overvalue  the  honesty  of  people  I  don't  know.  But 
when  I  once  set  my  hand  to  the  work,  I  am  not  likely  to  draw 
back." 

"  You  could  be  of  so  much  more  value  to  them  than  I  can," 
said  Lord  Evelyn,  wistfully.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  spend 
more  than  half  of  your  income." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  Brand,  at  once,  "  that  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent matter.  If  they  like  to  take  myself  and  what  I  can 
do,  well  and  good ;  money  is  a  very  different  thing." 

His  companion  raised  himself  in  his  chair  ;  and  there  was 
surprise  on  ihis  face. 

"  How  can  you  help  them  so  well  as  with  your  money  ? " 
he  cried.  "  Why,  it  is  the  very  thing  they  want  most." 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  "  said  Brand,  coldly.  "  You  see,  Evelyn, 
my  father  was  a  business  man  ;  and  I  may  have  inherited  a 
commercial  way  of  looking  at  things.  If  I  were  to  give  away 
a  lot  of  money  to  unknown  people,  for  unknown  purposes, 


70 

I  should  say  that  I  was  being  duped,  and  that  they  were  put- 
ting the  money  in  their  own  pocket." 

"  My  dear  fellow  !  "  Lord  Evelyn  protested  ;  "  the  need  of 
money  is  most  urgent.  There  are  printing-presses  to  be 
kept  going ;  agents  to  be  paid ;  police-spies  to  be  bribed — 
there  is  an  enormous  work  to  be  done,  and  money  must  be 
spent." 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Brand,  who  was  invariably  most  re- 
solved when  he  was  most  quiet  in  his  manner,  "  I  shall  pre- 
fer not  running  the  chance  of  being  duped  in  that  direction.  Be- 
sides, I  am  bound  in  honor  not  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
I  can  fling  myself  away — this  is  my  own  lookout;  and  my 
life,  or  the  way  I  spend  it,  is  not  of  great  consequence  to  me. 
But  my  father's  property,  if  anything  happens  to  me,  ought  to 

fo  intact  to  my  sister's  boys,  to  whom,  indeed,  I  have  left  it 
y  will.  I  will  say  to  Lind,  *  Is  it  myself  or  my  money  that 
is  wanted  :  you  must  choose.'  " 

"  The  question  would  be  an  insult." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  Very  well ;  I  will  not  ask  it. 
But  that  is  the  understanding."  Then  he  added,  more  light- 
ly, "  Why,  would  you  have  the  Pilgrim  start  with  his  pocket 
full  of  sovereigns  ?  His  staff  and  his  wallet  are  all  he  is 
entitled  to.  And  when  one  is  going  to  make  a  big  plunge, 
shouldn't  one  strip  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer ;  for  Lord  Evelyn's  quick  ear  had  caught 
the  sound  of  wheels  in  the  adjacent  street. 

"  There  is  my  trap,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch  as  he 
rose. 

Waters  brought  the  young  man  his  coat,  and  then  went  out 
to  light  him  down-stairs. 

"  Good-night,  Brand.  Glad  to  see  you  are  getting  into  a 
wholesomer  frame  of  mind.  I  shall  tell  Natalie  you  are  now 
prepared  to  admit  that  there  is  in  the  world  at  least  one  wo- 
man who  is  not  a  cheat." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  utter  a  word  to  Miss  Lind  of  any  of 
the  nonesense  we  have  been  talking,"  said  Brand,  hastily,  and 
with  his  face  grown  red. 

"  All  right.  By-the-way,  when  are  you  coming  up  to  see 
the  girls  ? " 

"  To-morrow  afternoon  :  will  that  do  ? " 

"Very  well ;  I  shall  wait  in." 

"  Let  me  see  if  I  remember  the  order  aright,"  said  Brand, 
holding  up  his  fingers  and  counting.  "  Rosalys,  Blanche, 
Ermentrude,  Agnes,  Jane,  Frances,  Geraldine  :  correct  ?  " 


VACILLATION.  71 

"  Quite.  I  think  their  mother  must  forget  at  times.  Well, 
good-night." 

"  Good-night — good-night !  " 

Brand  returned  to  the  empty  room,  and  threw  wide  open  one 
of  the  windows.  The  air  was  singularly  mild  for  a  night 
in  March ;  but  he  had  been  careful  of  his  friend.  Then  he 
dropped  into  an  easy-chair,  and  opened  a  letter. 

It  was  the  letter  from  Natalie  Lind,  which  he  had  held  in 
his  hand  ever  since,  eagerly  hoping  that  Evelyn  would  forget 
it — as,  in  fact,  he  had  done.  And  now  with  what  a  strange 
interest  he  read  and  re-read  it ;  and  weighed  all  its  phrases  ; 
and  tried  to  picture  her  as  she  wrote  these  lines ;  and  stud- 
ied even  the  peculiarities  of  the  handwriting.  There  was 
a  quaint,  foreign  look  here  and  there — the  capital  B,  for  ex- 
ample, was  written  in  German  fashion ;  and  that  letter  occur- 
red a  good  many  times.  It  was  Mr.  Brand,  and  Mr.  Brand, 
over  and  over  again — in  this  friendly  and  frank  gossip,  which 
had  all  the  brightness  of  a  chat  over  a  new  acquaintance  who 
interests  one.  He  turned  to  the  signature.  "  Your  friend, 
Natalie." 

Then  he  walked  up  and  down,  slowly  and  thoughtfully ;  but 
ever  and  again  he  would  turn  to  the  letter  to  see  that  he  had 
quite  accurately  remembered  what  she  had  said  about  the  de- 
light of  the  sail  from  Calais,  and  the  beautiful  flowers  at  Dover 
and  her  gladness  at  the  prospect  of  their  having  this  new  asso- 
ciate and  friend.  Then  the  handwriting  again.  The  second 
stroke  of  the  N  in  her  name  had  a  little  notch  at  the  top — 
German  fashion.  It  looked  a  pretty  name,  as  she  wrote  it. 

Then  he  went  to  the  window,  and  leaned  on  the  brass  bar, 
and  looked  out  on  the  dark  and  sleeping  world,  with  its  count- 
less golden  points  of  fire.  He  remained  there  a  long  time, 
thinking — of  the  past,  in  which  he  had  fancied  his  life  was 
buried  ;  of  the  present,  with  its  bewildering  uncertainties ;  of 
the  future,  with  its  fascinating  dreams.  There  might  be  a 
future  for  him,  then,  after  all ;  and  hope  ;  and  the  joy  of  com- 
panionship ?  Surely  that  letter  meant  at  least  so  much. 

But  then  the  boundlessness,  the  eager  impatience,  of  human 
wishes !  Farther  and  farther,  as  he  leaned  and  looked  out, 
without  seeing  much  of  the  wonderful  spectacle  before  him, 
went  his  thoughts  and  eager  hopes  and  desires.  Companion- 
ship ;  but  with  whom  ?  And  might  not  the  spring-time  of  life 
come  back  again,  as  it  was  now  coming  back  to  the  world  in 
the  sweet  new  air  that  had  begun  to  blow  from  the  South  ? 
And  what  message  did  the  soft  night-wind  bring  him  but  the 
name  of  Natalie  ?  And  Natalie  was  written  in  the  clear  and 


72  SUNRISE. 

shining  heavens,  in  letters  of  fire  and  joy ;  and  the  river  spoke 
of  Natalie  ;  and  the  darkness  murmured  Natalie. 

But  his  heart,  whispering  to  him — there,  in  the  silence  of 
the  night,  in  the  time  when  dreams  abound,  and  visions  of 
what  may  be — his  heart,  whispering  to  him,  said — "  Nata- 
lushka ! " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  COMMISSION. 

WHEN  Ferdinand  Lind  looked  out  the  next  day  from  the 
window  of  his  hotel,  it  was  not  at  all  the  Venice  of  chromo- 
lithography  that  lay  before  him.  The  morning  was  wild,  gray, 
and  gloomy,  with  a  blustering  wind  blowing  down  from  the 
north ;  the  broad  expanse  of  green  water  ruffled  and  lashed 
by  continual  squalls  ;  the  sea-gulls  wheeling  and  dipping  over 
the  driven  waves ;  the  dingy  masses  of  shipping  huddled  along 
the  wet  and  deserted  quays  ;  the  long  spur  of  the  Lido  a  thin 
black  line  between  the  green  sea  and  purple  sky ;  and  the 
domed  churches  over  there,  and  the  rows  of  tall  and  narrow 
and  grumbling  palaces  overlooking  the  canals  nearer  at  hand, 
all  alike  dismal  and  bedraggled  and  dark. 

When  he  went  outside  he  shivered ;  but  at  all  events  these 
cold,  damp  odors  of  the  sea  and  the  rainy  wind  were  more 
grateful  than  the  mustiness  of  the  hotel.  But  the  deserted  look 
of  the  place  !  The  gondolas,  with  their  hearse-like  coverings 
on,  lay  empty  and  untended  by  the  steps,  as  if  waiting  for  a  fu- 
neral procession.  The  men  had  taken  shelter  below  the  arch- 
ways, where  they  formed  groups,  silent,  uncomfortable,  sulky. 
The  few  passers-by  on  the  wet  quays  hurried  along  with  their 
voluminous  black  cloaks  wrapped  round  their  shoulders,  and 
hiding  most  of  the  mahogany-colored  faces.  Even  the  plague 
of  beggars  had  been  dispersed  ;  they  had  slunk  away  shiver- 
ing into  the  foul-smelling  nooks  and  crannies.  There  was  not 
a  soul  to  give  a  handful  of  maize  to  the  pigeons  in  the  Place 
of  St.  Mark. 

But  when  Lind  had  got  round  into  the  Place,  what  was  his 
surprise  to  find  Calabressa  having  his  breakfast  in  the  open 
air  at  a  small  table  in  front  of  a  cafe.  He  was  quite  alone 
there  ;  but  he  seemed  much  content.  In  fact,  he  was  laugh- 
ing heartily,  all  to  himself,  at  something  he  had  been  reading 
in  the  newspaper  open  before  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Lind,  when  they  had  exchanged  salutations, 


A  COMMISSION. 


73 


"  this  is  a  pleasant  sort  of  a  morning  for  one  to  have  one's 
breakfast  outside  ! " 

"  My  faith,"  said  Calabressa,  "  if  you  had  taken  as  many 
breakfasts  as  I  have  shut  up  in  a  hole,  you  would  be  glad  to 
get  the  chance  of  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air.  Sit  down,  my 
friend." 

Lind  glanced  round,  and  then  sat  down. 

My  good  friend  Calabressa,"  he  said  presently,  "  for  one 
connected  as  you  are  with  certain  persons,  do  you  not  think 
now  that  your  costume  is  a  little  conspicuous  ?  And  then 
your  sitting  out  here  in  broad  daylight — " 

"  My  friend  Lind,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  am  as  safe 
here  as  if  I  were  in  Naples,  which  I  believe  to  be  the  safest 
place  in  the  world  for  one  not  in  good  odor  with  the  author- 
ities. And  if  there  was  a  risk,  would  I  not  run  it  to  hear  my 
little  nightingale  over  there  when  she  opens  the  casements  ? 
Ah !  she  is  the  most  charming  Rosina  in  the  world." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Lind.  "  I  am  not  speaking  of  you.  But 
— the  others.  The  police  must  guess  you  are  not  here  for 
nothing." 

"Oh,  the  others  ?  Rest  assured.  The  police  might  as  well 
try  to  put  their  fingers  on  a  globule  of  quicksilver.  It  is  but 
three  days  since  they  left  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  Torre  del 
Greco.  To-morrow,  if  their  business  is  finished  to-night,  they 
will  vanish  again  ;  and  I  shall  be  dismissed." 

"  If  their  business  is  finished  ?  "  repeated  Lind,  absently. 
"  Yes  ;  but  I  should  like  to  know  why  they  have  summoned 
me  all  the  way  from  England.  They  cannot  mean — " 

"My  dear  friend  Lind,"  said  Calabressa,  "you  must  not 
look  so  grave.  Nothing  that  is  going  to  happen  is  worth 
one's  troubling  one's  self  about.  It  is  the  present  moment 
that  is  of  consequence ;  and  at  the  present  moment  I  have  a 
joke  for  you.  You  know  Armfelclt,  who  is  now  at  Berne  : 
they  had  tried  him  only  four  times  in  Berlin ;  and  there  was 
only  a  little  matter  of  nine  years'  sentence  against  him. 
Listen." 

He  took  up  the  Osservatore,  and  read  out  a  paragraph,  stat- 
ing that  Dr.  Julius  Armfeldt  had  again  been  tried  in  contuma- 
ciam,  and  sentenced  to  a  further  term  of  two  years'  imprison- 
ment, for  seditious  writing.  Further,  the  publisher  of  his 
latest  pamphlet,  a  citizen  of  Berne,  had  likewise  been  sen- 
tenced in  his  absence  to  twelve  months'  imprisonment. 

"Do  they  think  Armfeldt  will  live  to  be  a  centenarian,  that 
they  keep  heaping  up  those  sentences  against  him  ?  Or  is  it 
as  another  inducement  for  him  to  go  back  to  his  native  coun- 


74  SUNRISE. 

try  and  give  himself  up  ?  It  is  a  great  joke,  this  childish  pro- 
ceeding; but  a  Government  should  not  declare  itself  impo- 
tent. It  is  like  the  Austrians  when  they  hanged  you  and  the 
others  in  effigy.  Now  I  remember,  the  little  Natalushka  was 
grieved  that  she  was  not  born  then ;  for  she  wished  to  see  the 
spectacle,  and  to  have  killed  the  people  who  insulted  her 
father." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  no  joke  at  all,"  Lind  said,  gloomily. 
"  Those  Swiss  people  are  craven.  What  can  you  expect  from 
a  nation  of  hotel-waiters  ?  They  cringe  before  every  bully  in 
Europe ;  you  will  find  that,  if  Bismarck  insists,  the  Federal 
Council  will  expel  Armfeldt  from  Switzerland  directly.  No ;  the 
only  safe  refuge  nowadays  for  the  reformers,  the  Protestants 
the  pioneers  of  Europe,  is  England  ;  and  the  English  do  not 
know  it ;  they  do  not  think  of  it.  They  are  so  accustomed  to 
freedom  that  they  believe  that  is  the  only  possible  condition, 
and  that  other  nations  must  necessarily  enjoy  it.  When  you 
talk  to  them  of  tyranny,  of  political  persecution,  they  laugh. 
They  cannot  understand  such  a  thing  existing.  They  fancy 
it  ceased  when  Bomba's  dungeons  were  opened." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Calabressa,  lighting  a  cigarette,  and 
calling  for  a  small  glass  of  cognac,  "  I  am  content  with  Na- 
ples." 

"  And  the  protection  of  pickpockets  ? " 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  other,  coolly,  "  if  you  refer  to  the 
most  honorable  the  association  of  the  Camorristi,  I  would 
advise  you  not  to  speak  too  loud." 

Calabressa  rose,  having  settled  his  score  with  the  waiter. 

"  Allons  !  "  said  he.    "  What  are  you  going  to  do  to  day  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Lind,  discontentedly.  "May 'the 
devil  fly  away  with  this  town  of  Venice  !  I  never  come  here 
but  it  is  either  freezing  or  suffocating." 

"  You  are  in  an  evil  humor  to-day,  friend  Lind ;  you  have 
caught  the  English  spleen.  Come,  I  have  a  little  business  to 
do  over  at  Murano ;  the  breeze  will  do  you  good.  And  I 
will  tell  you  the  story  of  my  escape." 

The  time  had  to  be  passed  somehow.  Lind  walked  with 
his  companion  along  to  the  steps,  descended,  and  jumped 
into  a  gondola,  and  presently  they  were  shooting  out  into  the 
turbulent  green  water  that  the  wind  drove  against  the  side  of 
the  boat  in  a  succession  of  sharp  shocks.  Seated  in  the  little 
funereal  compartment,  they  could  talk  without  much  fear  of 
being  heard  by  either  of  the  men  ;  and  Calabressa  began  his 
tale.  It  was  not  romantic.  It  was  simply  a  case  of  bribery  ; 
the  money  to  effect  which  had  certainly  not  come  out  of 


A  COMMISSION.  75 

Calabressa's  shallow  pockets.  In  the  midst  of  the  story — or, 
at  least,  before  the  end  of  it — Lind  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Calabressa,  have  you  any  sure  grounds  for  what  you  said 
about  Zaccatelli  ?  " 

His  companion  glanced  quickly  outside. 

"  It  is  you  are  now  indiscreet,"  he  said,  in  an  equally  low 
voice.  "  But  yes  ;  I  think  that  is  the  business.  However," 
he  added,  in  a  gayer  tone,  "  what  matter  ?  To-day  is  not  to- 
morrow ;  to-morrow  will  shift  for  itself."  And  therewith  he 
continued  his  story,  though  his  listener  seemed  singularly 
preoccupied  and  thoughtful. 

They  arrived  at  the  island,  got  out,  and  walked  into  the 
courtyard  of  one  of  the  smaller  glass-works.  There  were  one 
or  two  of  the  workmen  passing ;  and  here  something  oc- 
curred that  seemed  to  arrest  Lind's  attention. 

"  What,  here  also  ? "  said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Every  one  ;  the  master  included.  It  is  with  him  I  have 
to  do  this  little  piece  of  business.  Now  you  will  be  so  good 
as  to  wait  for  a  short  time,  will  you  not  ? — and  it  is  warm  in 
there  ;  I  will  be  with  you  soon." 

Lind  walked  into  the  large  workshop,  where  there  were  a 
number  of  people  at  work,  all  round  the  large,  circular, 
covered  caldron,  the  various  apertures  into  which  sent  out 
fierce  rays  of  light  and  heat.  He  walked  about,  seemingly 
at  his  ease  ;  looking  at  the  apprentices  experimenting  ;  chat- 
ting to  the  workmen.  And  at  last  he  asked  one  of  these  to 
make  for  him  a  little  vase  in  opalescent  glass,  that  he  could 
take  to  his  daughter  in  England  ;  and  could  he  put  the  letter 
N  on  it  somewhere  ?  It  was  at  least  some  occupation,  watch- 
ing the  quick  and  dexterous  handling  under  which  the  little 
vase  grew  into  form,  and  had  its  decoration  cleverly  pinched 
out,  and  its  tiny  bits  of  color  added.  The  letter  N  was  not 
very  successful ;  but  then  Natalie  would  know  that  her 
father  had  been  thinking  of  her  at  Venice. 

This  excursion  at  all  events  tided  over  the  forenoon  ;  and 
when  the  two  companions  returned  to  the  wet  and  disconso- 
late city,  Calabressa  was  easily  persuaded  to  join  his  friend 
in  some  sort  of  mid-day  meal.  After  that,  the  long-haired 
albino-looking  person  took  his  leave,  having 'arranged  how 
Lind  was  to  keep  the  assignation  for  that  evening. 

The  afternoon  cleared  up  somewhat ;  but  Ferdinand  Lind 
seemed  to  find  it  dull  enough.  He  went  out  for  an  aimless 
stroll  through  some  of  the  narrow  back  streets,  slowly  mak- 
ing his  way  among  the  crowd  that  poured  along  these  vari- 
ous ways.  Then  he  returned  to  his  hotel,  and  wrote  some 


76  SUNRISE. 

letters.  Then  he  dined  early ;  but  still  the  time  did  not 
seem  to  pass.  He  resolved  on  getting  through  an  hour  or 
so  at  the  theatre. 

A  gondola  swiftly  took  him  away  through  the  labyrinth  of 
small  and  gloomy  canals,  until  at  length  the  wan  orange 
glare  shining  out  into  the  night  showed  him  that  he  was 
drawing  near  one  of  the  entrances  to  the  Fenice.  If  he  had 
been  less  preoccupied — less  eager  to  think  of  nothing  but 
how  to  get  the  slow  hours  over — he  might  have  noticed  the 
strangeness  of  the  scene  before  him  :  the  successive  gondolas 
stealing  silently  up  through  the  gloom  to  the  palely  lit  stone 
steps  ;  the  black  coffins  appearing  to  open  ;  and  then  figures 
in  white  and  scarlet  opera-cloaks  getting  out  into  the  dim 
light,  to  ascend  into  the  brilliant  glare  of  the  theatre  stair- 
case. He,  too,  followed,  and  got  into  the  place  assigned  to 
him.  But  this  spectacular  display  failed  to  interest  him. 
He  turned  to  the  bill,  to  remind  him  what  he  had  to  see. 
The  blaze  of  color  on  the  stage — the  various  combinations  of 
movement — the  resounding  music — all  seemed  part  of  a 
dream  ;  and  it  annoyed  him  somehow.  He  rose  and  left. 

The  intervening  time  he  spent  chiefly  in  a  cafe  close  by 
the  theatre,  where  he  smoked  cigarettes  and  appeared  to 
read  the  newspapers.  Then  he  wandered  away  to  the  spot 
appointed  for  him  to  meet  a  particular  gondola,  and  arrived 
there  half  an  hour  too  soon.  But  the  gondola  was  there 
also.  He  jumped  in  and  was  carried  away  through  the 
silence  of  the  night. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  to  him  by 
Calabressa,  he  contrived  to  throw  off,  by  a  strong  effort  of 
will,  any  appearance  of  anxiety.  He  entered  and  sat  down, 
saying  only, 

«  Well !— what  news  ?  " 

Calabressa  laughed  slightly ;  and  went  to  a  cupboard,  and 
brought  forth  a  bottle  and  two  small  glasses. 

"  If  you  were  Zaccatelli,"  he  said,  "  I  would  say  to  you, 
'  My  Lord,'  or  '  Your  Excellency,'  or  whatever  they  call 
those  flamingoes  with  the  bullet  heads,  '  I  would  advise  you 
to  take  a  little  drop  of  this  very  excellent  cognac,  for  you  are 
about  to  hear  something,  and  you  will  need  steady  nerves.' 
Meanwhile,  Brother  Lind,  it  is  not  forbidden  to  you  and  me 
to  have  a  glass.  The  Council  provide  excellent  liquor." 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  no  need  of  it,"  said  Lind,  coldly. 
"  What  do  you  mean  about  Zaccatelli  ?  " 

"  This,"  said  the  other,  filling  himself  out  a  glass  of  the 
brandy,  and  then  proceeding  to  prepare  a  cigarette.  "  If 


A  COMMISSION. 


77 


the  moral  scene  of  the  country,  too  long  outraged,  should 
determine  to  punish  the  Starving  Cardinal,  I  believe  he  will 
get  a  good  year's  notice  to  prepare  for  his  doom.  You  per- 
ceive ?  What  harm  does  sudden  death  to  a  man  ?  It  is 
nothing.  A  moment  of  pain  ;  and  you  have  all  the  happi- 
ness of  sleep,  indifference,  forgetfulness.  That  is  no  punish- 
ment at  all  :  do  you  perceive  ?  " 

Calabressa  continued,  airily — 

"  People  are  proud  when  they  say  they  do  not  fear  death. 
The  fools  !  What  has  any  one  to  fear  in  death  ?  To  the  poor 
it  means  no  more  hunger,  no  more  imprisonment,  no  more 
cold  and  sickness,  no  more  watching  of  your  children  when 
they  are  suffering  and  you  cannot  help ;  to  the  rich  it  means 
no  more  triumph  of  rivals,  and  envy,  and  jealousy ;  no  more 
sleepless  nights  and  ennui  of  days  ;  no  more  gout,  and  gravel, 
and  the  despair  of  growing  old.  Death  !  It  is  the  great 
emancipation.  And  people  talk  of  the  punishment  of 
death  !  " 

He  gave  a  long  whistle  of  contempt. 

"  But,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  it  is  a  little  bit  different  if 
you  have  to  look  forward  to  your  death  on  a  certain  fixed 
day.  Then  you  begin  to  overvalue  things — a  single  hour  of 
life  becomes  something." 

He  added,  in  a  tone  of  affected  condolence — 

"  Then  one  wouldn't  wish  to  cause  any  poor  creature  to 
say  his  last  aclieux  without  some  preparation.  And  in  the 
case  of  a  cardinal,  is  a  year  too  little  for  repentance  ?  Oh, 
he  will  put  it  to  excellent  use." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  said  Ferdinand  Lind,  with  an  im- 
patient frown  gathering  over  the  shaggy  eyebrows.  "  But  I 
want  to  know  what  I  have  to  do  with  all  this  ?  " 

"Brother  Lind,"  said  the  other,  mildly,  "if  the  Secretary 
Granaglia,  knowing  that  I  am  a  friend  of  yours,  is  so  kind  as 
to  give  me  some  hints  of  what  is  under  discussion,  I  listen, 
but  I  ask  no  questions.  And  you — I  presume  you  are  here 
not  to  protest,  but  to  obey." 

"  Understand  me,  Calabressa  :  it  was  only  to  you  as  a 
friend  that  I  spoke,"  said  Lind.  gravely.  And  then  he  ad- 
ded, "The  Council  will  not  find,  at  all  events,  that  I  am 
recusant." 

A  few  minutes  afterward  the  bell  rung,  and  Calabressa 
jumped  to  his  feet ;  while  Lind,  in  spite  of  himself,  started. 
Presently  the  portiere  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  little  sallow- 
complexioned  man  whom  he  had  seen  on  the  previous  even- 
ing entered  the  room.  On  this  occasion,  however,  Calabressa 


78  SUNRISE. 

was  motioned  to  withdraw,  and  immediately  did  so.  Lind 
and  the  stranger  were  left  together. 

"  I  need  scarcely  inform  you,  Brother  Lind,"  said  he,  in  a 
slow  and  matter-of-fact  way,  "  that  I  am  the  authorized 
spokesman  of  the  Council." 

As  he  said  this,  for  a  moment  he  rested  his  hand  on  the 
table.  There  was  on  the  forefinger  a  large  ring,  with  a  red 
stone  in  it,  engraved.  Lind  bowed  acquiescence. 

"  Calabressa  has  no  doubt  informed  you  of  the  matter  be- 
fore the  Council.  That  is  now  decided  ;  the  decree  has  been 
signed.  Zaccatelli  dies  within  a  year  from  this  day.  The 
motives  which  have  led  to  this  decision  may  hereafter  be  ex- 
plained to  you,  even  if  they  have  not  already  occurred  to  you  ; 
they  are  motives  of  policy,  as  regards  ourselves  and  the  prog- 
ress of  our  work,  as  well  as  of  justice." 

Ferdinand  Lind  listened,  without  response. 

"  It  has  further  been  decided  that  the  blow  be  struck 
from  England. " 

"  England  ! "  was  the  involuntary  exclamation. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  calmly.  "To  give  full  effect  to 
such  a  warning  it  must  be  clear  to  the  world  that  it  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  any  private  revenge  or  low  intrigue.  Assas- 
sination has  been  too  frequent  in  Italy  of  late.  The  doubting 
throughout  the  world  must  be  convinced  that  we  have  agents 
everywhere ;  and  that  we  are  no  mere  local  society  for  the 
revenging  of  private  wrongs." 

Lind  again  bowed  assent. 

"  Further,"  said  the  other,  regarding  him,  "  the  Council 
charge  you  with  the  execution  of  the  decree." 

Lind  had  almost  expected  this  :  he  did  not  flinch. 

"After  twelve  months'  grace  granted,  you  will  be  pre- 
pared with  a  sure  and  competent  agent  who  will  give  effect 
to  the  decree  of  the  Council ;  failing  such  a  one,  the  duty 
will  devolve  on  your  own  shoulders." 

"  On  mine  !  "  he  was  forced  to  exclaim.     "  Surely — " 

"  Do  you  forget,"  said  the  other,  calmly,  "that  sixteen 
years  ago  your  life  was  forfeited,  and  given  back  to  you  by 
the  Council  ? " 

"  So  I  understood,"  said  Lind.  "  But  it  was  not  my  life 
that  was  given  me  then  ! — only  the  lease  of  it  till  the  Coun- 
cil should  claim  it  again.  However  !  " 

He  drew  himself  up,  and  the  powerful  face  was  full  of  de- 
cision. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  he.     "  I  do  not  complain.     If  I  exact 


JACTA  EST  ALEA.  79 

obedience  from  others,  I,  too,  obey.     The  Council  shall  be 
served." 

"  Further  instructions  shall  be  given  you.  Meanwhile,  the 
Council  once  more  thank  you  for  your  attendance.  Fare- 
well, brother ! " 

"  Farewell,  brother !  " 

When  he  had  gone,  and  the  bell  again  rung,  Calabressa 
reappeared.  Lind  was  too  proud  a  man  to  betray  any  con- 
cern. 

"  It  is  as  you  told  me,  Calabressa,"  said  he,  carelessly,  as 
his  friend  proceeded  to  light  him  down  the  narrow  staircase. 
"  And  I  am  charged  with  the  execution  of  their  vengeance. 
Well ;  I  wish  I  had  been  present  at  their  deliberations,  that 
is  all.  This  deed  may  answer  so  far  as  the  continental 
countries  are  concerned  ;  but,  so  far  as  England  is  concerned, 
it  will  undo  the  work  of  years." 

"  What ! — England !  "  exclaimed  Calabressa,  lightly — "  where 
they  blow  up  a  man's  house  with  gunpowder,  or  dash  vitriol 
in  his  face,  if  he  works  for  a  shilling  a  day  less  wages  ? — 
where  they  shoot  landlords  from  behind  hedges  if  the  rent  is 
raised  ? — where  they  murder  policemen  in  the  open  street,  to 
release  political  prisoners  ?  No,  no,  friend  Lind;  I  cannot 
believe  that." 

"  However,  that  is  not  my  business,  Calabressa.  The 
Council  shall  be  obeyed.  I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  again 
at  liberty;  when  you  come  to  England  you  will  s'ee  how  your 
little  friend  Natalie  has  grown." 

''Give  a  kiss  from  me  to  the  little  Natalushka," said  he, 
cheerfully  ;  and  then  the  two  parted. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

JACTA    EST   ALEA. 

"  NATALIE,"  said  her  father,  entering  the  breakfast-room, 
"  I  have  news  for  you  to-day.  This  evening  Mr.  Brand  is  to 
be  initiated." 

The  beautiful,  calm  face  betrayed  no  surprise. 
.  "  That  is  always  the  way,"  she  answered,  almost  absently. 
"  One  after  the  other  they  go  in  ;  and  I  only  am   left  out, 
alone." 

"  What,"  he  said,  patting  her  shoulder  as  he  passed,  "  are 
you  still  dreaming  of  reviving  the  Giardiniere  ?  Well,  it 


So  SUNXISE. 

was  a  pretty  idea  to  call  each  sister  in  the  lodge  by  the  name 
of  a  flower.  But  nowadays,  and  in  England  especially,  if 
women  intermeddled  in  such  things,  do  you  know  what  they 
would  be  called  ?  Petrolettses/" 

"  Names  do  not  hurt,"  said  the  girl,  proudly. 

"  No,  no.  Rest  content,  Natalie.  You  are  initiated  far 
enough.  You  know  all  that  needs  to  be  known ;  and  you 
can  work  with  us,  and  associate  with  us  like  the  rest.  But 
about  Brand ;  are  you  not  pkasecl  ?  " 

"  I  am  indeed  pleased,  papa." 

"  And  I  am  more  than  pleased,"  said  Lind,  thoughtfully, 
"  He  will  be  the  most  important  accession  we  have  had  for 
many  a  day.  Ah,  you  women  have  sharp  eyes ;  but  there 
are  some  things  you  cannot  see — there  are  some  men  whose 
character  you  cannot  read." 

Natalie  glanced  up  quickly  ;  and  her  father  noticed  that 
surprised  look. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  what  now  is  your  opinion 
of  Mr.  Brand  ?  " 

Instantly  the  soft  eyes  were  cast  down  again,  and  a  faint 
tinge  of  color  appeared  in  her  face. 

"  Oh,  my  opinion,  papa  ?  "  said  she,  as  if  to  gain  time  to 
choose  her  words.  "  Well,  I  should  call  him  manly,  straight- 
forward— and — and  very  kind — and — and  very  English — " 

"I  understand  you  perfectly,  Natalie,"  her  father  said, 
with  a  laugh.  "  You  and  Lord  Evelyn  are  quite  in  accord. 
Yes,  and  you  are  both  thoroughly  mistaken.  You  mean,  by 
his  being  so  English,  that  he  is  cold,  critical,  unsympathetic  : 
is  it  not  so  ?  You  resent  his  being  cautious  about  joining  us. 
You  think  he  will  be  but  a  lukewarm  associate — suspecting 
everything — fearful  about  going  too  far — a  half-and-half  ally. 
My  dear  Natalie,  that  is  because  neither  Lord  Evelyn  nor 
you  know  anything  at  all  about  that  man." 

The  faint  color  in  the  girl's  cheeks  had  deepened  ;  and 
she  remained  silent,  with  her  face  downcast. 

"  The  pliable  ones,"  her  father  continued,  "  the  people 
who  are  moved  by  tine  talking,  who  are  full  of  amiable  senti- 
ments, and  who  take  to  work  like  ours  as  an  additional  sen- 
timent— you  may  initiate  a  thousand  of  them,  and  not  gain 
an  atom  of  strength.  It  is  a  hard  head  that  I  want,  and  a 
strong  will ;  a  man  determined  to  have  no  illusions  at  the 
outset ;  a  man  who,  once  pledged,  will  not  despair  or  give 
up  in  the  face  of  failure,  difficulty,  or  disappointment,  or  any- 
thing else.  Brand  is  such  a  man.  If  I  were  to  be  disabled 


JACTA  EST  ALEA.  Si 

to-morrow,  I  would  rather  leave  my  work  in  his  hands  than 
in  the  hands  of  any  man  I  have  seen  in  this  country." 

Was  it  to  hide  the  deepening  color  in  her  face  that  the 
girl  went  round  to  her  father,  and  stood  rather  behind  him, 
and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  stooped  down  to  his 
ear. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  "  I — I  hope  you  don't  think  I  have 
been  saying  anything  against  Mr.  Brand.  Oh  no.  How 
could  I  do  that — when  he  has  been  so  kind  to  us — and — and 
just  now  especially,  when  he  is  about  to  become  one  of  us  ? 
You  must  forget  what  I  said  about  his  being  English,  papa ; 
after  all,  it  is  not  for  us  to  say  that  being  English  is  anything 
else  than  being  kind,  and  generous,  and  hospitable.  And  I 
am  exceedingly  pleased  that  you  have  got  another  associate, 
and  that  we  have  got  another  good  friend,  in  England." 

"  Alors,  as  Calabressa  would  say,  you  can  show  that  you 
are  pleased,  Natalie,"  her  father  said/lightly,  "  by  going  and 
writing  a  pretty  little  note,  asking  your  new  friend,  Mr. 
Brand,  to  dine  with  us  to-night,  after  the  initiation  is  over, 
and  I  will  ask  Evelyn,  if  I  see  him." 

But  this  proposal  in  no  wise  seemed  to  lessen  the  girl's 
embarrassment.  She  still  clung  about  the  back  of  her  father's 
chair. 

"  I  would  rather  not  do  that,  papa,"  said  she,  after  a  second. 

"  Why  ?  why  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Would  it  not  look  less  formal  for  you  to  ask  him,  papa  ? 
You  see,  it  is  once  or  twice  that  we  have  asked  him  to  dine 
with  us  without  giving  him  proper  notice — " 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing — nothing  at  all.  A  bachelor  with 
an  evening  disengaged  is  glad  enough  to  fill  it  up  anyhow. 
Well,  if  you  would  rather  not  write,  Natalie,  I  will  ask  him 
myself." 

"  Thank  you,  papa,"  said  she,  apparently  much  relieved ; 
and  therewith  she  went  back  to  her  seat,  and  her  father 
turned  to  his  newspaper. 

The  day  passed,  and  the  evening  came.  As  six  o'clock 
was  striking,  George  Brand  presented  himself  at  the  little 
door  in  Lisle  street,  Soho,  and  was  admitted.  Lind  had  al- 
ready assured  him  that,  as  far  as  England  .was  concerned,  no 
idle  mummeries  were  associated  with  the  ceremony  of  initia- 
tion ;  to  which  Brand  had  calmly  replied,  that  if  mummeries 
were  considered  necessary,  he  was  as  ready  as  any  one  to  do 
his  part  of  the  business.  Only  he  added  that  he  thought  the 
unknown  powers  had  acted  wisely — so  far  as  England  was 
concerned — in  discarding  such  things. 
6 


82  SUNKISE. 

When  he  entered  the  room,  his  first  glance  round  was  re- 
assuring. There  were  six  persons  present  besides  Lind,  and 
they  did  not  at  all  suggest  the  typical  Leicester  Square  for- 
eigner. On  the  contrary,  he  guessed  that  four  out  of  the  six 
were  either  English  or  Irish  ;  and  two  of  them  he  recognized, 
though  they  were  unknown  to  him  personally.  The  one  was 
a  Home  Rule  M.  P.,  ferocious  enough  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, but  celebrated  as  the  most  brilliant,  and  amiable,  and 
fascinating  of  diners-out ;  the  other  was  an  Oxford  don,  of 
large  fortune  and  wildly  Radical  views,  who  wrote  a  good  deal 
in  the  papers.  There  was  a  murmur  of  conversation  going 
on,  which  ceased  as  Lind  briefly  introduced  the  new-comer. 

The  ceremony,  if  ceremony  it  could  be  called,  was  simple 
enough.  The  candidate  for  admission  was  required  to  sign 
a  printed  document,  solemnly  pledging  himself  to  devote  his 
life,  and  the  labor  of  his  hands  and  brain,  to  the  work  of  the 
association  ;  to  implicitly  obey  any  command  reaching  him 
from  the  Council,  or  communicated  through  an  officer  of  the 
first  degree  ;  and  to  preserve  inviolable  secrecy.  Brand  read 
this  paper  through  twice,  and  signed  it.  It  was  then  signed 
by  the  seven  witnesses.  He  was  further  required  to  inscribe 
his  signature  in  a  large  volume,  which  contained  a  list  of 
members  of  a  particular  section.  That  done,  the  six  strangers 
present  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  left. 

He  looked  round  surprised,  Had  he  been  dreaming  during 
these  brief  five  minutes?  Yet  he  could  hear  the  noise  of 
their  going  down-stairs. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  with  a  smile,  "  it  is  not  a  very  terri- 
ble ceremony,  is  it  ?  Did  you  expect  prostrations  at  the  altar ; 
and  blindfold  gropings,  and  the  blessing  of  the  dagger  ? 
When  you  come  to  know  a  little  more  of  our  organization,  of 
its  extent  and  its  power,  you  will  understand  how  we  can 
afford  to  dispense  with  all  those  theatrical  ways  of  frightening 
people  into  obedience  and  secrecy." 

"  I  expected  to  find  Evelyn  here,"  said  George  Brand.  He 
was  in  truth,  just  a  little  bit  bewildered  as  yet.  He  had  been 
assured  that  there  would  be  no  foolish  mummeries  or  fantastic 
rites  of  initiation ;  but  all  the  same  he  had  been  much  occu- 
pied with  this  step  he  was  about  to  take ;  he  had  been  think- 
ing of  it  much  ;  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  something 
unknown  ;  and  he  had  been  nerving  himself  to  encounter 
whatever  might  come  before  him.  But  that  five  minutes  of 
silence ;  the  quick  reading  and  signing  of  a  paper  ;  the  sud- 
den dispersion  of  the  small  assemblage  :  he  could  scarcely 
believe  it  was  all  real. 


JACTA  EST  ALEA.  83 

"  No,"  Lind  said,  "  Lord  Evelyn  is  not  yet  an  officer.  He 
is  only  a  Companion  in  the  third  degree,  like  yourself." 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  Companion  in  the  third  degree.  Surely  you  read  the 
document  that  you  signed  ? " 

It  was  still  lying  on  the  table  before  him.  He  took  it  up ; 
yes,  he  certainly  was  so  designated  there.  .Yet  he  could  not 
remember  seeing  the  phrase,  though  he  had,  before  signing, 
read  every  word  twice  over. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Brand,"  his  companion  said,  seating  him- 
self at  the  other  side  of  the  table,  "  when  you  have  got  over 
your  surprise  that  there  should  be  no  ceremony,  it  will  become 
my  duty  to  give  you  some  idea — some  rough  idea — of  the 
mechanism  and  aims  of  our  association,  and  to  show  you  in 
what  measure  we  are  allied  with  other  societies.  The  details 
you  will  become  acquainted  with  by-and-by ;  that  will  be  a 
labor  of  time.  And  you  know,  of  course,  or  you  have  guessed, 
that  there  are  no  mysteries  to  be  revealed  to  you,  no  profound 
religious  truths  to  be  communicated,  no  dogmas  to  be  ac- 
cepted. I  am  afraid  we  are  very  degenerate  descendants  of 
the  Mystics,  and  the  Illuminati,  and  all  the  rest  of  them  ;  we 
have  become  prosaic;  our  wants  are  sadly  material.  And 
yet  we  have  our  dreams  and  aspirations,  too  ;  and  the  virtues 
that  we  exact — obedience,  temperance,  faith,  self-sacrifice — 
are  not  ignoble.  Meanwhile,  to  begin.  I  think  you  may  pre- 
pare yourself  to  be  astonished." 

But  astonishment  was  no  word  for  the  emotion  experienced 
by  the  newly  admitted  member  when  Ferdinand  Lind  pro- 
ceeded to  give  him,  with  careful  facts  and  sober  computations, 
some  rough  outline  of  the  extent  and  power  of  this  intricate 
and  far-reaching  organization.  Hitherto  the  word  "  Interna- 
tional "  had  with  him  been  associated  with  the  ridiculous 
fiasco  at  Geneva ;  but  here  was  something,  not  calling  itself 
international,  which  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  knitting  to- 
gether the  multitudes  of  the  nations,  not  only  in  Europe,  but 
in  the  English  and  French  and  German  speaking  territories 
beyond  the  seas,  in  a  solemn  league — a  league  for  self-pro- 
tection and  mutual  understanding,  for  the  preservation  of  in- 
ternational peace,  the  spread  of  knowledge,  the  outbraving  of 
tyranny,  the  defiance  of  religious  intolerance,  the  relief  of  the 
oppressed,  the  help  of  the  poor,  and  the  sick,  and  the  weak. 
This  was  no  cutthroat  conspiracy  or  wild  scheme  of  confisca- 
tion and  plunder ;  but  a  design  for  the  establishment  of  wide 
and  beneficent  law — a  law  which  should  protect,  not  the  am- 
bition of  kings,  not  the  pride  of  annies,  not  the  revenues  of 


84  SUNRISE. 

priests,  but  the  rights  and  the  liberties  of  those  who  were 
"  darkening  in  labor  and  pain."  And  this  message,  that  could 
go  forth  alike  to  the  Camorristi  and  the  Nihilists  ;  to  the  Free 
Masons  and  the  Good  Templars  ;  to  the  Trades-unionists  and 
the  Knights  of  Labor — to  all  those  masses  of  men  moved  by 
the  spirit  of  co-operation — "  See,  brothers,  what  we  have  to 
show  you.  Some  of  you  are  aiming  at  chaos  and  perdition ; 
others  putting  wages  as  their  god  and  sovereign  ;  others  con- 
tent with  a  vague  philanthropy  almost  barren  of  results.  This 
is  all  the  help  we  want  of  you — to  pledge  yourselves  to  asso- 
ciate with  us,  to  accept  our  modest  programme  of  actual  needs, 
to  give  help  to  those  who  are  in  want  or  trouble,  to  promise 
that  you  will  stand  by  us  in  the  time  to  come.  And  when  the 
time  does  come ;  when  we  are  combined  ;  when  knowledge  is 
abroad,  and  mutual  trust,  who  will  say  *  yes '  if  the  voice  of  the 
people  in  every  nation  murmurs  '  No  ? '  What  priest  will  re- 
impose  the  Inquisition  on  us  ;  what  king  drive  us  to  shed  blood 
that  his  robes  may  have  the  richer  dye ;  what  policeman  in 
high  places  endeavor  to  stamp  out  our  God-given  right  of  free 
speech  ?  It  ,is  so  little  for  you  to  grant ;  it  is  so  much  for  you, 
and  for  us,  to  gain  !  " 

These  were  not  the  words  he  uttered — for  Lincl  spoke  Eng- 
lish slowly  and  carefully — but  they  were  the  spirit  of  his  words. 
And  as  he  went  on  describing  to  this  new  member  what  had 
already  been  done,  what  was  being  done,  and  the  great  possi- 
bilities of  the  future,  Brand  began  to  wonder  whether  all  this 
gigantic  scheme,  with  its  simple,  bold,  and  practical  outlines, 
were  the  work  of  this  one  man.  He  ventured  by-and-by  to 
hint  at  some  such  question. 

"Mine?"  Lind  said,  frankly,  "Ah  no!  not  the  inspira- 
tion of  it.  I  am  only  the  mechanic  putting  brick  and  brick 
together ;  the  design  is  not  mine,  nor  that  of  any  one  man. 
It  is  an  aggregate  project — a  speculation  occupying  many  a 
long  hour  of  imprisonment — a  scheme  to  be  handed  from  one 
to  the  other,  with  alterations  and  suggestions." 

"  But  even  your  share  of  it — how  can  one  man  control  so 
much  ? "  Brand  said ;  for  he  easily  perceived  what  a  mass  of 
detail  had  to  pass  through  this  man's  hands. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  other.  "Because  every  stone 
added  to  the  building  is  placed  there  for  good.  There  is  no 
looking  back.  There  are  no  pacifications  of  revolt.  No 
questions ;  but  absolute  obedience.  You  see,  we  exact  so 
little  :  why  should  any  one  rebel  ?  However,  you  will  learn 
more  and  more  as  you  go  on ;  and  soon  your  work  will  be  ap- 
pointed you.  Meanwhile,  I  thank  you,  brother." 


JACTA  EST  ALEA.  85 

Lind  rose  and  shook  his  hand. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  that  is  enough  of  business.  It  occurred 
to  me  this  morning  that,  if  you  had  nothing  else  to  do  this 
evening,  you  might  come  and  dine  with  us,  and  give  Natalie 
the  chance  of  meeting  you  in  your  new  character." 

"  I  shall  be  most  pleased,"  said  Brand ;  and  his  face  flushed. 

"  I  telegraphed  to  Evelyn.  If  he  is  in  town,  perhaps  he 
will  join  us.  Shall  we  walk  home  ? " 

"  If  you  like." 

So  the)^  went  out  together  into  the  glare  and  clamor  of  the 
streets.  George  Brand's  heart  was  very  full  with  various 
emotions ;  but,  not  to  lose  altogether  his  English  character, 
he  preserved  a  somewhat  critical  tone  as  he  talked. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Lind,"  he  said,  "  so  far  as  I  can  see  and  hear, 
your  scheme  has  been  framed  not  only  with  great  ability, 
but  also  with  a  studied  moderation  and  wisdom.  The  only 
point  I  would  urge  is  this — that,  in  England,  as  little  as  pos- 
sible should  be  said  about  kings  and  priests.  A  great  deal  of 
what  you  said  would  scarcely  be  understood  here.  You  see, 
in  England  it  is  not  the  Crown  nowadays  which  instigate  or 
insists  on  war;  it  is- Parliament  and  the  people.  Dynastic 
ambitions  do  not  trouble  us.  There  is  no  reason  whatever 
why  we  here  should  hate  kings  when  they  are  harmless." 

"  You  are  right ;  the  case  is  different,'''  Lind  admitted. 
"  But  that  makes  adhesion  to  our  programme  all  the  easier." 

"  I  was  only  speaking  of  the  police  of  mentioning  things 
which  might  alarm  timid  people.  Then  as  for  the  priests  ;  it 
may  be  the  interest  of  the  priests  in  Ireland  to  keep  the 
peasantry  ignorant ;  but  it  is  certainly  not  so  in  England. 
The  Church  of  England  fosters  education — " 

"  Are  not  your  clergymen  the  bitterest  enemies  of  the 
School  Board  schools  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  may  dislike  seeing  education  dissociated  from 
religion — that  is  natural,  considering  what  they  believe  ;  but 
they  are  not  necessary  enemies  of  education.  Perhaps  I  am 
a  very  young  member  to  think  of  making  such  a  suggestion. 
But  the  truth  is,  that  when  an  ordinary  Englishman  hears 
anything  said  against  kings  and  priests,  he  merely  thinks  of 
kings  and  priests  as  he  knows  them — and  as  being  mostly 
harmless  creatures  nowadays — and  concludes  that  you  are  a 
Communist  wanting  to  overturn  society  altogether." 

"  Precisely  so.  I  told  Natalie  this  morning  that  if  she 
were  to  be  allowed  to  join  our  association  her  English  friends 
would  imagine  u^^  to  be  ?ipetroleuse" 


86  SUNRISE. 

"  Miss  Lind  is  not  in  the  association  ? "  Brand  said, 
quickly. 

"  As  yet  no  women  have  been  admitted.  If  is  a  difficulty ; 
for  in  some  societies  with  which  we  are  partly  in  alliance 
women  are  members.  Ah,  such  noble  creatures  many  of 
them  are,  too !  However,  the  question  may  come  forward 
by-and-by.  In  the  mean  time,  Natalie,  without  being  made 
aware  of  what  we  are  actually  doing — that,  of  course,  is  for- 
bidden— knows  something  of  what  our  work  must  be,  and  is 
warm  in  her  sympathy.  She  is  a  good  help,  too  :  she  is  the 
quickest  translator  we  have  got." 

"  Do  you  think,"  Brand  said,  somewhat  timidly,  but  with  a 
frown  on  his  face,  "  that  it  is  fair  to  put  such  tedious  labor 
on  the  shoulders  of  a  young  girl  ?  Surely  there  are  enough 
of  men  to  do  the  work  ?  " 

"  You  shall  propose  that  to  her  yourself,"  Lind  said  laugh- 
ing. 

Well,  they  arrived  at  the  house  in  Curzon  Street,  and, 
when  they  went  up-stairs  to  the  drawing-room,  they  found 
Lord  Evelyn  there.  Natalie  Lind  came  forward — with  less 
than  usual  of  her  graciously  self-possessed  manner — and 
shook  hands  with  him  briefly,  and  said,  with  averted  look, 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Brand." 

Now,  as  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  it  was  impossible  that 
she  could  have  noticed  the  quick  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment that  crossed  his  face.  Was  it  that  she  herself  was 
instantly  conscious  of  the  coldness  of  her  greeting,  and 
anxious  to  atone  for  that  ?  Was  it  that  she  plucked  up  heart 
of  grace  ?  At  all  events,  she  suddenly  offered  him  both  her 
hands  with  a  frank  courage  ;  she  looked  him  in  the  face  with 
the  soft,  tender,  serious  eyes ;  and  then,  before  she  turned 
away,  the  low  voice  said, 

"  Brother,  I  welcome  you  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SOUTHWARD. 


AFTER  a  late,  cold,  and  gloomy  spring,  a  glimpse  of  early 
summer  shone  over  the  land ;  and  after  a  long  period  of 
anxious  and  oftentimes  irritating  and  disappointing  travail — 
in  wet  and  dismal  towns,  in  comfortless  inns,  with  associates 
not  always  to  his  liking — George  Brand  was  hurrying  to  the 


SOUTHWARD.  87 

South.  Ah,  the  thought  of  it,  as  the  train  whirled  <  along  on 
this  sunlit  morning  !  After  the  darkness,  the  light ;  after 
fighting,  peace  ;  after  the  task-work,  a  smile  of  reward  !  No 
more  than  that  was  his  hope  ;  but  it  was  a  hope  that  kept  his 
heart  afire  and  glad  on  many  a  lonely  night. 

At  length  his  companion,  who  had  slept  steadily  on  ever 
since  they  had  entered  the  train  at  Carlisle,  at  about  one  in 
the  morning,  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  glanced  at  the 
window. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  fine  day  at  last,  Humphreys," 
said  Brand. 

"They  have  been  having  better  weather  in  the  South,  sir." 

The  man  looked  like  a  well-dressed  mechanic.  He  had  an 
intelligent  face,  keen  and  hard.  He  spoke  with  the  New- 
castle burr. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  *  sir,'  "  Brand  said, 
impatiently. 

"It  comes  natural,  somehow,  sir,"  said  the  other,  with 
great  simplicity.  "There  is  not  a  man  in  any  part  of  the 
country,  but  would  say  '  sir '  to  one  of  the  Brands  of  Darling- 
ton. When  Mr.  Lind  telegraphed  to  me  you  were  coming 
down,  I  telegraphed  back,  *  Is  he  one  of  the  Brands  of  Dar- 
lington ? '  and  when  I  got  his  answer  I  said  to  myself,  '  Here 
is  the  man  to  go  to  the  Political  Committee  of  the  Trades- 
union  Congress  :  they  won't  fight  shy  of  him.'  " 

"Well,  we  have  no  great  cause  to  grumble  at  what  has 
been  done  in  that  direction  ;  but  that  infernal  Internationale 
is  doing  a  deal  of  mischief.  There  is  not  a  trades-unionist 
in  the  country  who  does  not  know  what  is  going  on  in 
France.  A  handful  of  irresponsible  madmen  trying  to  tack 
themselves  on  to  the  workmen's  association — well,  surely  the 
men  will  have  more  sense  than  to  listen.  The  congres  ouvrier 
to  change  its  name,  and  to  become  the  congres  revolutionnaire  ! 
When  I  first  went  to  Jackson,  Molyneux,  and  the  others,  I 
found  they  had  a  sort  of  suspicion  that  we  wanted  to  make 
Communists  of  them  and  tear  society  to  pieces." 

"  You  have  done  more  in  a  couple  of  months,  sir,  than  we 
all  have  done  in  the  last  ten  years,"  his  companion  said. 

"  That  is  impossible.     Look  at — " 

He  named  some  names,  certain  of  them  well  known  enough. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Where  we  have  been  they  don't  believe  in  London  pro- 
fessors, and  speech-makers,  and  chaps  like  that.  They  know 
that  the  North  is  the  backbone  and  the  brain  of  England, 


88  SUNRISE. 

and  in  the  North  they  want  to  be  spoken  to  by  a  North-coun- 
tryman." 

"  I  am  a  Buckinghamshire  man." 

"  That  may  be  where  you  live,  sir  ;  but  you  are  one  of  the 
Brands  of  Darlington,"  said  the  other,  doggedly. 

By-and-by  they  entered  the  huge,  resounding  station. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night,  Humphreys  ?  Come 
and  have  some  dinner  with  me,  and  we  will  look  in  afterward 
at  the  Century." 

Humphreys  looked  embarrassed  for  a  moment. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  gding  to  the  Coger's  Hall,  sir,"  said  he, 
hitting  upon  an  excuse.  "  I  have  heard  some  good  speaking 
there." 

"  Mostly  bunkum,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  All  right.  Then  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  morning  in 
Lisle  Street.  Good-bye." 

He  jumped  into  a  hansom,  and  was  presently  rattling 
away  through  the  busy  streets.  How  sweet  and  fresh  was 
the  air,  even  here  in  the  midst  of  the  misty  and  golden  city  ! 
The  early  summer  was  abroad  ;  there  was  a  flush  of  green 
on  the  trees  in  the  squares.  When  he  got  down  to  the  Em- 
bankment, he  was  quite  surprised  by  the  beauty  of  the  gar- 
dens ;  there  were  not  many  gardens  in  the  towns  he  had 
chiefly  been  living  in. 

He  dashed  up  the  narrow  wooden  stairs. 

"  Look  alive  now,  Waters  :  get  my  bath  ready." 

"  It  is  ready,  sir." 

"  And  breakfast !  " 

"  Whenever  you  please,  sir." 

He  took  off  his  dust-smothered  travelling-coat,  and  was 
about  to  fling  it  on  the  couch,  when  he  saw  lying  there  two 
pieces  of  some  brilliant  stuff  that  were  strange  to  him. 

"  What  are  these  things  ?  " 

"  They  were  left,  sir,  by  Mr. ,  of  Bond  Street,  on  ap- 
proval. He  will  call  this  afternoon." 

"  Tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil ! "  said  Brand,  briefly,  as  he 
walked  off  into  his  bedroom. 

Presently  he  came  back. 

"  Stay  a  bit,"  said  he  ;  and  he  took  up  the  two  long  strips 
of  silk-embroidered  stuff — Florentine  work,  probably,  of 
about  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  ground  was  a 
delicate  yellowish-gray,  with  an  initial  letter  worked  in  various 

colors  over  it.    Mr. ,  of  Bond  Street,  knew  that  Brand  had 

often  amused  his  idle  hours  abroad  in  picking  up  things  like 

\ 


SOUTHWARD.  89 

this,  chiefly  as  presents  to  lady  friends,  and  no  doubt  thought 
they  would  be  welcome  enough,  even  for  bachelors'  rooms. 

"  Tell  him  I  will  take  them." 

"  But  the  price,  sir  ?  " 

"  Ask  him  his  price  ;  beat  him  down  ;  and  keep  the  differ- 
ence." 

After  bath  and  breakfast  there  was  an  enormous  pile  of 
correspondence  awaiting  him  ;  for  not  a  single  letter  referring 
to  his  own  affairs  had  been  forwarded  to  him  for  over  two 
months.  He  had  thrown  his  entire  time  and  care  into  his 
work  in  the  North.  And  now  that  these  arrears  had  to  be 
cleared  off,  he  attacked  the  business  with  an  obvious  impa- 
tience. Formerly  he  had  been  used  to  dawdle  over  his  let- 
ters, getting  through  a  good  portion  of  the  forenoon  with 
them  and  conversations  with  Waters  about  Buckinghamshire 
news.  Now,  even  with  that  omniscient  factotum  by  his  side, 
his  progress  was  slow,  simply  because  he  was  hurried.  He 
made  dives  here  and  there,  without  system,  without  settle- 
ment. At  last,  looking  at  his  watch,  he  jumped  up:  it  was 
half-past  eleven. 

"  Some  other  time,  Waters — some  other  time  ;  the  man 
must  wait,"  he  said  to  the  astonished  but  patient  person  be- 
side him.  "  If  Lord  Evelyn  calls,  tell  him  I  shall  look  in  at 
the  Century  to-night." 

"  Ye:s,  sir." 

Some  half-hour  thereafter  he  was  standing  in  Park  Lane, 
his  heart  beating  somewhat  quickly,  his  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on 
two  figures  that  were  crossing  the  thoroughfare  lower  down 
to  one  of  the  gates  leading  into  Hyde  Park.  These  were 
Natalie  Lind  and  the  little  Anneli.  He  had  known  that  he 
would  see  her  thus  ;  he  had  imagined  the  scene  a  thousand 
times ;  he  had  pictured  to  himself  every  detail — the  trees, 
the  tall  railings,  the  spring  flowers  in  the  plots,  and  the  little 
rosy-cheeked  German  girl  walking  by  her  mistress's  side  ;  and 
yet,  now  that  this  familiar  thing  had  come  true,  he  trembled 
to  behold  it ;  he  breathed  quickly  ;  he  could  not  go  forward 
to  her  and  hold  out  his  hand.  Slowly,  for  they  were  walking 
slowly,  he  went  along  to  the  gate  and  entered  after  them ;  cau- 
tiously, lest  she  should  turn  suddenly  and  confront  him  with 
her  eyes  ;  drawn,  and  yet  fearing  to  follow.  She  was  talking 
with  some  animation  to  her  companion  ;  though  even  in  this 
profound  silence  he  could  not  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice. 
Bnt  he  could  see  the  beautiful  oval  of  her  face  !  and  some- 
times, when  she  turned  with  a  laugh  to  the  little  Anneli,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  black  eyes  and  eyelashes,  the  smiling 


90  SUNKISE. 

lips  and  brilliant  teeth ;  and  once  or  twice  she  put  out  the 
palm  of  her  right  hand  with  a  little  gesture  which,  despite  her 
English  dress,  would  have  told  a  stranger  that  she  was  of  for- 
eign ways.  But  the  look  of  welcome,  the  smile  of  reward 
that  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  ? 

Well,  Mr.  Lind  was  in  America ;  and  during  his  absence 
his  daughter  saw  but  few  visitors.  There  was  no  particular 
reason  why,  supposing  that  George  Brand  met  Natalie  in  the  i 
street,  he  should  not  go  up  and  shake  hands  with  her ;  and 
many  a  time,  in  these  mental  pictures  of  his  of  her  morning 
walk  with  the  rosy-cheeked  Anneli,  he  imagined  himself  con- 
fronting her  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  perhaps  walk- 
ing some  way  with  her,  to  listen  once  more  to  the  clear,  low 
vibrations  of  her  musical  voice.  But  no  sooner  had  he  seen 
her  come  into  Park  Lane — the  vision  became  real — than  he 
felt  he  could  not  go  up  and  speak  to  her.  If  he  had  met  her 
by  accident,  perhaps  he  might ;  but  to  watch  her,  to  entrap 
her,  to  break  in  on  her  wished-for  isolation  under  false  pre- 
tences— all  that  he  suddenly  felt  to  be  impossible.  He 
could  follow  her  with  his  heart ;  but  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
the  touch  of  her  hand,  the  smile  of  her  calm,  beautiful,  dark 
eyes,  were  as  remote  for  him  as  if  she,  too,  were  beyond  the 
broad  Atlantic. 

He  was  not  much  given  to  introspection  and  analysis;  dur- 
ing the  past  two  months  more  especially  he  had  been  far  too 
busy  to  be  perpetually  asking  "  Why  ?  why  ?  " — the  vice  of 
indolence.  It  was  enough  that,  in  the  cold  and  the  wet, 
there  was  a  fire  in  his  heart  that  kept  him  glad  with  thinking 
of  the  fair  days  to  come  ;  and  that,  in  the  foggy  afternoons  or 
the  lonely  nights  when  he  was  alone,  and  perhaps  despondent 
or  impatient  over  the  stupidity  or  the  contumacy  he  had  had 
to  encounter,  there  came  to  him  the  soft  murmur  of  a  voice 
from  far  away — proud,  sad,  and  yet  full  of  consolation  and 
hope  : 

"  — But  ye  that  might  be  clothed  with  all  things  pleasant, 
Ye  are  foolish  that  put  off  the  fair  soft  present, 
That  clothe  yourself  with  the  cold  future  air ; 

When  mother  and  father,  and  tender  sister  and  brother, 
And  the  old  live  love  that  was  shall  be  as  ye, 
Dust  and  no  fruit  of  loving  life  shall  be. 
— She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were, 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us,  or  mother." 

He  could  hear  her  voice  ;  he  could  see  the  beautiful   face 
grow  pale  with  its  proud  fervor ;  he  could  feel  the  soft  touch 


SOUTHWARD.  91 

of  her  hand  when  she  came  forward  and  said,  "  Brother,  I 
welcome  you  !  " 

And  now  that  she  was  there  before  him,  the  gladness  in 
his  heart  at  the  mere  sight  of  her  was  troubled  with  a  trem- 
bling fear  and  pain.  She  was  but  a  stone's-throw  in  front  of 
him ;  but  she  seemed  far  away.  The  world  was  young 
around  her  ;  and  she  belonged  to  the  the  time  of  youth  and 
of  hope ;  life,  that  he  had  been  ready  to  give  up  as  a  useless 
and  aimless  thing,  was  only  opening  out  before  her,  full  of  a 
thousand  beauties,  and  wonders,  and  possibilities.  If  only 
he  could  have  taken  her  hand,  and  looked  into  her  eyes,  and 
claimed  that  smile  of  welcome,  he  would  have  been  nearer  to 
her.  Surely,  in  one  thing  at  least  they  were  in  sympathy. 
There  was  a  bond  between  them.  If  the  past  had  divided 
them,  the  future  would  bring  them  more  together.  Did  not 
the  Pilgrims  go  by  in  bands,  until  death  struck  down  its  vic- 
tims here  and  there  ? 

Natalie  knew  nothing  of  all  this  vague  longing,  and  doubt, 
and  pain  in  the  breast  of  one  who  was  so  near  her.  She  was 
in  a  gay  mood.  The  morning  was  beautiful ;  the  soft  wind 
after  the  rain  brought  whiffs  of  scent  from  the  distant  rose- 
red  hawthorn.  Though  she  was  here  under  shadow  of  the 
trees,  the  sun  beyond  shone  on  the  fresh  and  moist  grass ;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  glades  there  were  glimpses  of  brilliant  color 
in  the  foliage — the  glow  of  the  laburnum,  the  lilac  blaze  of  the 
rhododendron  bushes.  And  how  still  the  place  was  !  Far 
off  there  was  a  dull  roar  of  -carriages  in  Piccadilly;  but  here 
there  was  nothing  but  the  bleating  of  the  sheep,  the  chirp  of 
the  young  birds,  the  stir  of  the  wind  among  the  elms.  Some- 
time's  he  could  now  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

She  was  in  a  gay  humor.  When  she  got  to  the  Serpentine — 
the  north  bank  was  her  favorite  promenade ;  she  could  see 
on  the  other  side,  just  below  the  line  of  leaves,  the  people 
passing  and  repassing  on  horseback ;  but  she  was  not  of 
them — she  found  a  number  of  urchins  wading.  They  had  no 
boat ;  but  they  had  the  bung  of  a  barrel,  which  served,  and 
that  they  were  pushing  through  the  water  with  twigs  and 
sticks;  their  shapeless  boots  they  had  left  on  the  bank. 
Now,  as  it  seemed  to  Brand,  who  was  watching  from  a  dis- 
tance, she  planned  a  scheme.  Anneli  was  seen  to  go  ahead 
of  the  boys,  and  speak  to  them.  Their  attention  being  thus 
distracted,  the  young  mistress  stepped  rapidly  down  to  the 
tattered  boots,  and  dropped  something  in  each.  Then  she 
withdrew,  and  was  rejoined  by  her  maid  ;  they  walked  away 
without  waiting  to  see  the  result  of  their  machinations.  But 


92 

George  Brand,  following  by-and-by,  heard  one  of  the  urchins 
call  out  with  wonder  that  he  had  found  a  penny  in  his  shoe  ; 
and  this  extraordinary  piece  of  news  brought  back  his  com- 
rades, who  rather  mechanically  began  to  examine  their  foot- 
gear too.  And  then  the  amazement ! — and  the  looks  around  ! 
— and  the  examination  of  the  pence,  lest  that  treasure  should 
vanish  away  !  Brand  went  up  to  them. 

"  Look  hear  you  young  stupids ;  don't  you  see  that  tall 
lady  away  along  there  by  the  boat-house — why  don't  you  go 
and  thank  her  ?  " 

But  they  were  either  too  shy  or  too  incredulous  ;  so  he  left 
them.  He  did  not  forget  the  incident. 

Perhaps  it  was  that  the  heavens  had  grown  dark  in  the 
southwest,  threatening  a  shower ;  but,  at  all  events,  Natalie 
soon  returned  and  set  out  on  her  homeward  way,  giving  this 
unknown  spy  some  trouble  to  escape  observation.  But  when 
she  had  passed,  he  again  followed,  now  with  even  greater  unrest 
and  pain  at  his  heart.  For  would  not  she  soon  disappear,  and 
the  outer  world  grow  empty,  and  the  dull  hours  have  to  be 
faced  ?  He  had  come  to  London  with  such  hope  and  glad- 
ness ;  now  the  very  sunlight  was  to  be  taken  out  of  his  life  by 
the  shutting  of  a  door  in  Curzon  Street. 

Fate,  however,  was  kinder  to  him  than  he  had  dared  to 
hope.  As  Natalie  was  returning  home,  he  ventured  to  draw 
a  little  nearer  to  her,  but  still  with  the  greatest  caution,  for 
he  would  have  been  overcome  with  shame  if  she  had  detected 
him  dogging  her  footsteps  in  this  aimless,  if  innocent  manner. 
And  now  that  she  had  got  close  to  her  own  door,  he  had 
drawn  nearer  still — on  the  other  side  of  the  street ;  he  so 
longed  to  catch  one  more  glimpse  of  the  dark  eyes  smiling, 
and  the  mobile,  proud  mouth.  But  just  as  the  door  was  be- 
ing opened  from  within,  a  man  who  had  evidently  been  watch- 
ing his  chance  thrust  himself  before  the  two  women,  barring 
their  way,  and  proceeded  to  address  Natalie  in  a  vehement, 
gesticulating  fashion,  with  much  clinching  of  his  fists  and 
throwing  out  of  his  arms.  Anneli  had  shrunk  back  a  step, 
for  the  man  was  uncouth  and  unkempt ;  but  the  young  mis- 
tress stood  erect  and  firm,  confronting  the  beggar,  or  madman, 
or  whoever  he  was,  without  the  slightest  sign  of  fear. 

This  was  enough  for  George  Brand.  He  was  not  thrusting 
himself  unfairly  on  her  seclusion  if  he  interposed  to  protect 
her  from  menace.  Instantly  he  crossed  the  road. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  "  This  was  what  he 
said  ;  but  what  he  did  was  to  drive  the  man  back  a  couple  of 
yards. 


SOUTHWARD.  93 

A  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm  quickly. 

"  He  is  in  trouble,"  Natalie  said,  calmly.  "  He  wants  to 
see  papa  ;  he  has  come  a  long  way ;  he  does  not  understand 
that  papa  is  in  America.  If  you  could  only  convince  him — 
But  you  do  not  talk  Russian." 

"  I  can  talk  English,"  said  Brand,  regarding  the  maniac- 
looking  person  before  him  with  angry  brows.  "  Will  you  go 
indoors,  Miss  Lind,  and  leave  him  to  me.  I  will  talk  an 
English  to  him  that  he  will  understand." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  answer  an  appeal  for  help  ? "  said 
she,  with  gentle  reproof.  "  The  man  is  in  trouble.  If  I  per- 
suade him  to  go  with  you,  will  you  take  him  to  papa's  cham- 
bers ?  Either  Beratinsky.or  Heinrich  Reitzei  will  be  there." 

"  Reitzei  is  there." 

"  He  will  hear  what  this  man  has  to  say.  Will  you  be  so 
kind  ? " 

"  I  will  do  anything  to  rid  you  of  this  fellow,  who  looks 
more  like  a  madman  than  a  beggar." 

She  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  the  man  again — her 
voice  sounded  gentle  and  persuasive  to  Brand,  in  this  tongue 
which  he  could  not  understand.  When  she  had  finished,  the 
uncouth  person  in  the  tattered  garments  dropped  om  both 
knees  on  the  pavement,  and  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  kissed  it 
in  passionate  gratitude.  Then  he  rose,  and  stood  with  his 
cap  in  his  hand. 

"  He  will  go  with  you.  I  am  so  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Mr. 
Brand ;  and  I  have  not  even  said,  '  How  do  you  do  ? ' ' 

To  hear  this  beautiful  voice  after  so  long  a  silence — to  find 
those  calm,  dark,  friendly  eyes  regarding  him — bewildered 
him,  or  gave  him,  courage,  he  knew  not  which.  He  said  to 
her,  with  a  quick  flush  on  his  forehead, 

"  May  I  come  back  to  tell  you  how  I  succeed  ?  " 

She  only  hesitated  for  a  second. 

"  If  you  have  time.     If  you  care  to  take  the  trouble." 

He  carried  away  with  him  the  look  of  her  face — that  filled 
his  heart  with  sunlight.  In  the  hansom,  into  which  he  bun- 
dled his  unkempt  companion,  if  only  he  had  known  enough 
Russian,  he  would  have  expressed  gratitude  to  him.  Beggar 
or  maniac,  or  whatever  he  was,  had  he  not  been  the  means 
of  procuring  for  George  Brand  that  long-coveted,  long- 
dreamed-of  smile  of  welcome  ? 


94  SUNRISE. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   RUSSIAN   EPISODE. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  answer  an  appeal  for  help  ? "  With 
that  gentle  protest  still  lingering  in  his  ear,  he  was  not  in- 
clined to  be  hard  on  this  unfortunate  wretch  who  was  in  the 
cab  with  him ;  and  yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  resolved  to 
prevent  any  repetition  of  the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed. 
At  the  last  he  discovered  that  the  man  had  picked  up  in  his 
wanderings  a  little  German.  His  own  German  was  not  first- 
rate  ;  it  was  fluent,  forcible,  and  accurate  enough,  so  far  as 
hotels  and  railway-stations  were  concerned ;  elsewhere  it  had 
a  tendency  to  halt,  blunder,  and  double  back  on  itself.  But, 
at  all  events,  he  managed  to  convey  to  his  companion  the 
distinct  intimation  that  any  further  troubling  of  that  young 
lady  would  only  procure  for  him  ?  broken  head. 

The  dull,  stupid,  savage-looking  face  betrayed  no  sign  of 
intelligence.  He  repeated  the  warning  again  and  again ;  and 
at  last,  at  the  phrase  "that  young  lady,"  the  dazed  small  eyes 
lit  up  somewhat,  and  the  man  clasped  his  hands. 

"  Ein  Engel !  "  he  said,  apparently  to  himself.  "  Ein  En- 
gel — ein  Engel !  Ach  Gott — wie  schon — wie  gemuthlich  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  Brand  said,  "  that  is  all  very  well ;  but 
one  is  not  permitted  to  annoy  angels — to  trouble  them  in  the 
street.  Do  you  understand  that  that  means  punishment — 
one  must  be  punished — if  one  returns  to  the  house  of  that 
young  lady  ?  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  man  regarded  him  with  the  small,  deep-set  eyes  again 
sunk  into  apathy. 

"  Ihr  Diener,  Herr,"  said  he,  submissively. 

"  You  understand  you  are  not  to  go  back  to  the  house  of 
the  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Ihr  Diener,  Herr." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  got  out  oi  him,  or  into  him ;  so 
Brand  waited  until  he  should  get  help  of  Heidrich  Reitzei, 
Lind's  locum  tenens. 

Reitzei  was  in  the  chambers — at  Lind's  table,  in  fact.  He 
was  a  man  of  about  twenty-eight  or  thirty,  slim  and  dark, 
with  a  perfectly  pallid  face,  a  small  black  mustache  carefully 
waxed,  and  an  affectedly  courteous  smile.  He  wore  a  pince- 
nez  ;  was  fond  of  slang,  to  show  his  familiarity  with  English ; 
and  aimed  at  an  English  manner,  too.  He  seemed  bored. 


A  RUSSIAN  EPISODE.  95 

He  regarded  this  man  whom  Brand  introduced  to  him  with- 
out surprise,  with  indifference. 

"  Hear  what  this  fellow  has  to  say,"  Brand  said,  "  will  you  ? 
and  give  him  distinctly  to  understand  that  if  he  tries  again 
to  see  Miss  Lind,  I  will  break  his  head  for  him.  What  idiot 
could  have  given  him  Lind's  private  address  ?  " 

The  man  was  standing  near  the  door,  stolid  apparently, 
but  with  his  small  eyes  keenly  watching.  Reitzei  said  a 
word  or  two  to  him.  Instantly  he  went — he  almost  sprung — 
forward;  and  this  movement  was  so  unexpected  that  the 
equanimity  of  the  pallid  young  man  received  a  visible  shock, 
and  he  hastily  drew  out  a  drawer  a  few  inches.  Brand  caught 
sight  of  the  handle  of  a  revolver. 

But  the  man  was  only  eager  to  tell  his  story,  and  presently 
Reitzei  had  resumed  his  air  of  indifferenqe.  As  he  pro- 
ceeded to  translate  for  Brand's  benefit,  in  interjectional 
phrases,  what  this  man  with  the  trembling  hands  and  the 
burning  eyes  was  saying,  it  was  strange  to  mark  the  contrast 
between  the  two  men. 

"  His  name  Kirski,"  the  younger  man  was  saying,  as  he 
eyed,  with  a  cool  and  critical  air,  the  wild  look  in  the  other's 
face.  "  A  carver  in  wood,  but  cannot  work  now,  for  his 
hands  tremble,  through  hunger  and  fatigue — through  drink,  I 
should  say — native  of  a  small  village  in  Kiev — had  his  share 
of  the  Communal  land — but  got  permission  from  the  Com- 
mune to  spend  part  of  the  year  in  Kiev  itself — sent  back  all 
his  taxes  duly,  and  money  too,  because — oh,  this  is  it? — 
daughter  of  village  Elder — young,  beautiful,  of  course — left 
an  orphan,  with  three  brothers — and  their  share  of  the  land 
too  much  for  them.  Ah,  this  is  the  story,  then,  my  friend  ? 
Married,  too — young,  beautiful,  good — yes,  yes,  we  know  all 
that— 

There  were  tears  running  down  the  face  of  the  other  man. 
But  these  he  shook  away ;  and  a  wilder  light  than  ever  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"  He  goes  to  Kiev  as  usual,  foolish  fellow ;  now  I  see  what 
all  the  row  is  about.  When  he  returns,  three  months  after, 
he  goes  to  his  house.  Empty.  The  neighbors  will  not  speak. 
At  last  one  says  something  about  Pavel  Michaieloff,  the  great 
proprietor,  whose  house  and  farm  are  some  versts  away — my 
good  fellow,  you  have  got  the  palsy,  or  is  it  drink  ?--he  goes 
and  seeks  out  the  house  of  Pavel — yes,  yes,  the  story  is  not 
new — Pavel  is  at  the  open  window,  smoking — he  goes  up  to 
the  window — there  is  a  woman  inside — when  she  sees  him 


96  SUNRISE. 

she  utters  a  loud  scream,  and  rushes  for  protection  to  the  man 
Michaieloff — then  all  the  fat  is  in  the  fire  naturally — " 

The  Russian  choked  and  gasped ;  drops  of  perspiration 
stood  on  his  forehead ;  he  looked  wildly  around. 

"  Water  ?  "  said  Reitzei.  "  Poor  devil,  you  need  some 
water  to  cool  down  your  excitement.  You  are  making  as 
much  fuss  as  if  that  kind  of  thing  had  never  happened  in  the 
world  before." 

But  he  rose  and  got  him  some  water,  which  the  man  drained 
eagerly  ;  then  he  continued  his  story  with  the  same  fierce  and 
angry  vehemence. 

"  Well,  yes,  he  had  something  to  complain  of,  certainly," 
Reitzei  said,  translating  all  that  incoherent  passion  into  cool 
little  phrases.  "  Not  a  fair  fight.  Pavel  summons  his  men 
from  the  court-yard — men  with  whips — dogs,  too — he  is  lashed 
and  driven  along  the  roads,  and  the  dogs  tear  at  him  !  Oh 
yes,  my  good  friend,  you  have  been  badly  used  ;  but  you  have 
come  a  long  way  to  tell  your  story.  I  must  ask  him  how  the 
mischief  he  got  here  at  all." 

But  here  Reitzei  paused  and  stared.  Something  the  man 
said — in  an  eager,  low  voice,  with  his  sunken  small  eyes  all 
afire — startled  him  out  of  his  critical  air. 

"  Oh,  that  is  it,  is  it  ? "  he  said,  eyeing  him.  "  He  will 
do  any  thing  for  us — he  will  commit  a  murder — ten  murders 
—if  only  we  give  him  money,  a  knife,  and  help  to  kill  the 
man  Michaieloff.  Well,  he  is  a  lively  sort  of  person  to  let 
loose  on  society." 

"  The  man  is  clearly  mad,"  Brand  said. 

"  The  man  was  madder  who  sent  him  to  us,"  Reitzei  an- 
swered. "  I  should  not  like  to  be  in  his  shoes  if  Lind  hears 
that  this  maniac  was  allowed  to  see  his  daughter." 

The  wretched  creature  standing  there  glanced  eagerly  from 
one  to  the  other,  with  the  eyes  of  a  wild  animal,  seeking  to 
gather  something  from  their  looks ;  then  he  went  forward  to 
the  table,  and  stooped  down  and  spoke  to  Reitzei  still  further, 
in  the  same  low,  fierce  voice,  his  whole  frame  meanwhile  shak- 
ing with  his  excitement.  Reitzei  said  something  to  him  in 
reply,  and  motioned  him  back.  He  retired  a  step  or  two, 
and  then  kept  watching  the  faces  of  the  two  men. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  "  Brand  said. 

Reitzei  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  know  what  I  should  like  to  do  with  him  if  I  dared," 
he  said,  with  a  graceful  smile.  "  There  is  a  friend  of  mine 
not  a  hundred  miles  away  from  that  very  Kiev  who  wants  a 
little  admonition.  Her  name  is  Petrovna,  she  is  the  jail- 


A  RUSSIAN  EPISODE.  97 

matron  of  a  female  penitentiary;  she  is  just  a  little  to  fierce 
at  times.  Murderers,  thieves,  prostitutes  :  oh  yes,  she  can  be 
civil  enough  to  them ;  but  let  a  political  prisoner  come  near 
her — one  of  her  own  sex,  mind- — and  she  becomes  a  devil,  a 
tigress,  a  vampire.  Ah,  Madame  Petrovna  and  I  may  have  a 
little  reckoning  some  day.  I  have  asked  Lind  again  and  again 
to  petition  for  a  decree  against  her ;  but  no,  he  will  not  move  ; 
he  is  becoming  Anglicized,  effeminate." 

"  A  decree  ? "  Brand  said. 

The  other  smiled,  with  an  affectation  of  calm  superiority. 

"  You  will  learn  by-and-by.  Meanwhile,  if  I  dared,  what  I 
should  like  to  do  would  be  to  give  our  friend  here  plenty  of 
money,  and  not  one  but  two  knives,  saying  to  him,  '  My  good 
friend,  here  is  one  knife  for  Michaieloff,  if  you  like  ;  but  first 
of  all  here  is  this  knife  for  that  angel  in  disguise,  Madame 
Petrovna,  of  the  Female  Penitentiary  in  Novolevsk.  Strike 
sure  and  hard  ! ' ' 

For  one  instant  his  affectation  forsook  him,  and  there  was 
a  gleam  in  his  eyes.  This  was  but  a  momentary  relapse  from 
his  professed  indifference. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Brand,  I  suppose  I  must  take  over  this  mad- 
man from  you.  You  may  tell  Miss  Lind  she  need  not  be 
frightened." 

"  I  should  not  think  Miss  Lind  was  in  the  habit  of  being 
frightened,"  said  Brand,  coldly. 

"  Ah,  no  ;  doubtless  not.  Well,  I  shall  see  that  this  fellow 
does  not  trouble  her  again.  What  fine  tidings  we  had  of  your 
work  in  the  North!  You  have  been  a  power;  you  have 
moved  mountains." 

"  I  have  moved  John  Molyneux,"  said  Brand,  with  a  laugh, 
"  and  in  these  days  that  is  a  more  difficult  business." 

"Fine  news  from  Spain,  too,"  said  Reitzei,  glancing  at 
some  letters.  "  From  Valladolid,  Barcelona,  Ferrol,  Sara- 
gossa — all  the  same  story  :  coalition,  coalition.  Salmero  will 
be  in  London  next  week." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  what  you  are  going  to  do  with 
this  man  yet ;  you  must  stow  the  combustible  piece  of  goods 
somewhere.  Poor  devil,  his  sufferings  have  made  a  pitiable 
object  of  him." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Reitzei,  "  You  don't  suppose  that 
a  Russian  peasant  would  feel  so  deeply  a  beating  with  whips, 
or  the  worrying  of  dogs,  or  even  the  loss  of  his  wife  ?  Of 
course,  all  together,  it  was  something  of  a  hard  grind.  He 
must  have  been  constitutionally  insane,  and  that  woke  the 
whole  thing  up." 
7 


98  SUNRISE. 

"  Then  he  should  be  confined.     He  is  a  lunatic  at  large." 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  harm  anybody,"  Reitzei  said,  re- 
garding the  man  as  if  he  were  a  strange  animal.  "  I  would 
not  shut  up  a  dog  in  a  lunatic  asylum  ;  I  would  rather  put  a 
bullet  through  his  head.  And  this  fellow — if  we  could  hum- 
bug him  a  little,  and  get  him  to  his  work  again — I  know  a 
man  in  Wardour  Street  who  would  do  that  for  me — and  see 
what  effect  the  amassing  of  a  little  English  money  might  have 
on  him.  Better  a  miser  than  a  wild  beast.  And  he  seems  a 
submissive  sort  of  creature.  Leave  him  to  me,  Mr.  Brand." 

Brand  began  to  think  a  little  better  of  Reitzei,  whom  hith- 
erto he  had  rather  disliked.  He  handed  him  five  pounds,  to 
get  some  clothes  and  tools  for  the  man,  who,  when  he  was 
told  of  this  generosity,  turned  to  Brand  and  said  something 
to  him  in  Russian  which  set  Reitzei  laughing. 

"  What  is  it  he  says  ?  " 

"  He  said,  '  Little  Father,  you  are  worthy  to  become  the 
husband  of  the  angel :  may  the  day  come  soon  ! '  I  suppose 
the  angel  is  Miss  Lind  ;  she  must  have  been  very  kind  to  the 
man." 

"  She  only  spoke  to  him ;  but  her  voice  can  be  kind,"  said 
Brand,  rather  absently,  and  then  he  left. 

Away  went  the  hansom  back  to  Curzon  Street.  He  said 
to  himself  that  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  this  unfortunate 
wretch  Kirski  had  wandered  all  the  way  from  the  Dnieper  to 
the  Thames.  He  would  look  after  this  man.  He  would  do 
something  for  him.  Five  pounds  only  ?  And  he  had  been 
the  means  of  securing  this  interview,  if  only  for  three  of  four 
minutes  ;  after  the  long  period  of  labor  and  hope  and  waiting 
he  might  have  gone  without  a  word  at  all  but  for  this  over- 
troubled  poor  devil. 

And  now — now  he  might  even  see  her  alone  for  a  couple 
of  minutes  in  the  hushed  little  drawing-room  ;  and  she  might 
say  if  she  had  heard  about  what  had  been  done  in  the  North, 
and  about  his  eagerness  to  return  to  the  work.  One  look  of 
thanks ;  that  was  enough.  Sometimes,  by  himself  up  there 
in  the  solitary  inns,  the  old  fit  had  .come  over  him ;  and  he 
had  laughed  at  himself,  and  wondered  at  this  new  fire  of  occu- 
pation and  interest  that  was  blazing  through  his  life,  and  asked 
himself,  as  of  old,  to  what  end — to  what  end  ?  But  when  he 
heard  Natalie  Lind's  voice,  there  was  a  quick  good-bye  to  all 
questioning.  One  look  at  the  calm,  earnest  eyes,  and  he  drank 
deep  of  faith,  courage,  devotion.  And  surely  this  story  of 
the  man  Kirski — what  he  could  tell  her  of  it — would  be  suffi- 
cient to  fill  up  five  minutes,  eight  minutes,  ten  minute*,  while 


A  RUSSIAN  EPISODE.  99 

all  the  time  he  should  be  able  to  dwell  on  her  eyes,  whether 
they  were  downcast,  or  turned  to  his  with  their  frank,  soft 
glance.  He  should  be  in  the  perfume  of  the  small  drawing- 
room.  He  would  see  the  Roman  necklace  Mazzini  had  given 
her  gleam  on  her  bosom  as  she  breathed. 

He  did  not  know  what  Natalie  Lind  had  been  about  dur- 
ing his  absence. 

"Anneli,  Anneli — hither,  child!"  she  called  in  German. 
"  Run  up  to  Madame  Potecki,  and  ask  her  to  come  and  spend 
the  afternoon  with  me.  She  must  come  at  once,  to  lunch 
with  me  ;  I  will  wait." 

"  Yes,  Fraulein.     What  music,  Fraulein  ?  " 

"  None  ;  never  mind  any  music.  But  she  must  come  at 
once." 

"  Schon,  Fraulein,"   said  the  little  Anneli,  about  to  depart. 

Her  young  mistress  called  her  back,  and  paused,  with  a 
little  hesitation. 

"  You  may  tell  Elizabeth,"  said  she,  with  an  indifferent 
air,  "  that  it  is  possible — it  is  quite  possible — it  is  at  least  pos- 
sible— I  may  have  two  friends  to  lunch  with  me  ;  and  she 
must  send  at  once  if  she  wants  anything  more.  And  you 
could  bring  me  back  some  fresh  flowers,  Anneli?  " 

"  Why  not,  Fraulein  ?  " 

"  Go  quick,  then,  Anneli — fly  like  a  roe — durch  Wald  und 
aufderHaide!" 

And  so  it  came  about  that  when  George  Brand  was  ushered 
into  the  scented  little  drawing-room — so  anxious  to  make  the 
most  of  the  invaluable  minutes — he  found  himself  introduced 
first  of  all  to  Madame  Potecki,  a  voluble,  energetic  little  Pol- 
ish gentlewoman,  whose  husband  had  been  killed  in  the  War- 
saw disturbances  of  '61,  and  who  now  supported  herself  in 
London  by  teaching  music.  She  was  eager  to  know  all  about 
the  man  Kirski,  and  hoped  that  he  was  not  wholly  a  maniac, 
and  trusted  that  Mr.  Brand  would  see  that  her  dear  child — 
her  adopted  daughter,  she  might  say — was  not  terrified  again 
by  the  madman. 

"My  dear  madame,"  said  Brand,  "  you  must  not  imagine 
that  it  was  from  terror  that  Miss  Lind  handed  over  the  man 
to  me — it  was  from  kindness.  That  is  more  natural  to  her 
than  terror." 

"  Ah,  I  know  the  dear  child  has  the  courage  of  an  army," 
said  the  little  old  lady,  tapping  her  adopted  daughter  on  the 
shoulder  with  the  fan.  "  But  she  must  take  care  of  herself 
while  her  papa  is  away  in  America." 

Natalie  rose ;  and  of  course  Brand  rose  also,  with  a  sudden 


ioo  SUNRISE. 

qualm  of  disappointment,  for  he  took  that  as  the  signal  of 
his  dismissal ;  and  he  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word  to  her. 

"Mr.  Brand,"  said  she,  with  some  little  trifle  of  embarrass- 
ment, "  I  know  I  must  have  deprived  you  of  your  luncheon. 
It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  go  at  once  with  the  poor  man. 
Would  it  save  you  time — if  you  are  not  going  anywhere — I 
thought  perhaps  you  might  come  and  have  something  with 
maclame  and  myself.  You  must  be  dying  of  hunger." 

He  did  not  refuse  the  invitation.  And  behold  !  when  he 
went  down-stairs,  the  table  was  already  laid  for  three ;  had 
he  been  expected,  he  asked  himself  ?  Those  flowers  there, 
too  :  he  knew  it  was  no  maid-servant's  fingers  that  had  ar- 
ranged and  distributed  them  so  skilfully. 

How  he  blessed  this  little  Polish  lady,  and  her  volubility, 
and  her  extravagant,  subtle,  honest  flattery  of  her  dear  adopted 
daughter !  It  gave  him  liberty  to  steep  himself  in  the  rich 
consciousness  of  Natalie's  presence  ;  he  could  listen  in  silence 
for  the  sound  of  her  voice — he  could  covertly  watch  the 
beauty  of  her  shapely  hands — without  being  considered  pre- 
occupied or  morose.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  say,  "  Yes,  ma- 
dame,"  or  "  Indeed,  madame,"  the  while  he  knew  that  Nata- 
lie Lind  was  breathing  the  same  air  with  him — that  at  any 
moment  the  large,  lustrous  dark  eyes  might  look  up  and  meet 
his.  And  she  spoke  little,  too  ;  and  had  scarcely  her  usual 
frank  self-confidence :  perhaps  a  chance  reference  of  Madame 
Potecki  to  the  fact  that  her  adopted  daughter  had  been 
brought  up  without  a  mother  had  somewhat  saddened  her. 

The  room  was  shaded  in  a  measure,  for  the  French  silk 
blinds  were  down ;  but  there  was  a  soft  golden  glow  prevail- 
ing all  the  same.  For  many  a  day  George  Brand  remembered 
that  little  luncheon-party  ;  the  dull,  bronze  glow  of  the  room  ; 
the  flowers  ;  the  soft,  downcast  eyes  opposite  him  ;  the  bright, 
pleasant  garrulity  of  the  little  Polish  lady  ;  and  always — ah, 
the  delight  of  it! — that  strange,  trembling,  sweet  conscious- 
ness that  Natalie  Lind  was  listening  as  he  listened — that 
almost  he  could  have  heard  the  beating  of  her  heart. 

And  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  times  he  swore  that,  whoever 
throughout  the  laboring  and  suffering  world  might  regret  that 
day,  the  man  Kirski  should  not. 


NEW  FRIENDS.  IOI 

CHAPTER  XV. 

NEW    FRIENDS. 

IT  was  a  Sunday  aftenoon  in  Hyde  Park,  in  this  pleasantly 
opening  summer ;  and  there  was  a  fair  show  of  "  the  quality  " 
come  out  for  their  accustomed  promenade,  despite  the  few  thun- 
der-showers that  had  swept  across  from  the  South.  These,  in 
fact,  had  but  served  to  lay  the  dust,  and  to  bring  out  the  scent 
of  the  hawthorns  and  lilacs,  so  that  the  air  was  sweet  with  per- 
fume ;  while  the  massive  clouds,  banking  up  in  the  North, 
formed  a  purple  background  to  show  up  the  young  green  foli- 
age of  the  trees,  all  wet  with  rain,  'and  shimmering  tremulously 
in  the  sunlight. 

George  Brand  and  his  friend  Evelyn  sat  in  the  back  row  of 
chairs,  watching  the  people  pass  and  repass.  It  was  a  som- 
bre procession,  but  that  here  and  there  appeared  a  young  Eng- 
lish girl  in  her  pale  spring  costume — paler  than  the  fresh 
glow  of  youth  and  health  on  her  face,  and  that  here  and  there 
the  sunlight,  wandering  down  through  the  branches,  touched 
a  scarlet  sunshade — just  then  coming  into  fashion — until  that 
shone  like  a  beautiful  spacious  flower  among  the  mass  of 
green. 

When  they  had  been  silently  watching  the  people  for  some 
little  time,  Brand  said,  almost  to  himself, 

"How  very  unlike  those  women  she  is  !  " 

"Who?  Oh,  Natalie  Lind,"  said  the  other,  who  had  been 
speaking  of  her  some  minutes  before.  "  Well,  that  is  natural 
and  I  don't  say  it  to  their  disadvantage.  I  believe  most  girls 
are  well-intended  enough ;  but,  of  course,  they  grow  up  in  a 
particular  social  atmosphere,  and  it  depends  on  that  what 
they  become.  If  it  is  rather  fast,  the  girl  sees  nothing  objec- 
tionable in  being  fast  too.  If  it  is  religious,  the  god  of  her 
idolatry  is  a  bishop.  If  it  is  sporting,  she  thinks  mostly  about 
horses.  Natalie  is  exceptional,  because  she  has  been  brought 
up  in  exceptional  circumstances.  For  one  thing,  she  has  been 
a  good  deal  alone ;  and  she  has  formed  all  sorts  of  beautiful 
idealisms  and  aspirations — " 

The  conversation  dropped  here  ;  for  at  the  moment  Lord 
Evelyn  espied  two  of  his  sisters  coming  along  in  the  slow  pro- 
cession. 

"  Here  come  two  of  the  girls,"  he  said  to  his  friend.  "  How 
precious  demure  they  look  !  " 


102  SUNRISE. 

Brand  at  once  rose,  and  went  out  from  the  shadow  of  the 
trees,  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  two  young  ladies. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  D'Agincourt  ?  How  do  you  do,  Miss 
Frances  ?  " 

Certainly  no  one  would  have  suspected  these  two  very  grace- 
ful and  pleasant-looking  girls  of  being  madcap  creatures  at 
home.  The  elder  was  a  tall  and  slightly-built  blonde,  with 
large  gray  eyes  set  wide  apart ;  the  younger  a  gentle  little 
thing,  with  brownish  eyes,  freckles,  and  a  pretty  mouth. 

"  Mamma  ?  "  said  the  eldest  daughter,  in  answer  to  his  in- 
quires. "  Oh,  she  is  behind,  bringing  up  the  rear,  as  it  were. 
We  have  to  go  in  detachment,  or  else  the  police  would  come 
and  read  the  riot  act  against  us.  Francie  and  I  are  the  van- 
guard ;  and  she  feels  such  a  good  little  girl,  inarching  along 
two  and  two,  just  as  if  she  were  back  at  Brighton." 

The  clear  gray  eyes — quite  demure — glanced  in  toward  the 
shadows  of  the  trees. 

"  I  see  you  have  got  Evelyn  there,  Mr.  Brand.  Who  is  the 
extraordinary  person  he  is  always  talking  about  now — the  Maid 
of  Saragossa,  or  Joan  of  Arc,  or  something  like  that  ?  Do  you 
know  her  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Miss  Lind." 

"  I  know  he  has  persuaded  mamma  to  go  and  call  on  her, 
and  get  her  to  dine  with  us,  if  she  will  come.  Now,  I  call 
that  kind." 

"  If  she  accepts,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  I  mean  nothing  of  the  sort.  Good-bye.  If  we  stay 
another  minute,  we  shall  have  the  middle  detachments  over- 
lapping the  vanguard.  En  avant,  Francie  !  Vorwarts  !  " 

She  bowed  to  him,  and  passed  on  in  her  grave  and  stately 
manner :  more  calmly  observant,  demurer  eyes  were  not  hi 
the  Park. 

He  ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  whole  family,  and  at  last  encoun- 
tered the  mamma,  who  brought  up  the  rear  with  the  youngest 
of  her  daughters.  Lady  Evelyn  was  a  tall,  somewhat  good- 
looking,  elderly  lady,  who  wore  her  silver-white  hair  in  old-fash- 
ioned curls.  She  was  an  amiable  but  strictly  matter-of-fact  per- 
son, who  beheld  her  daughters'  mad  humors  with  surprise  as 
well  as  alanr.  What  were  they  forever  laughing  at  ?  Be- 
sides, it  was  indecorous.  She  had  not  conducted  herself  in 
that  manner  when  she  lived  in  her  father's  home. 

Lady  Evelyn,  who  was  vaguely  aware  that  Brand  knew  the 
Linds,  repeated  her  daughter's  information  about  the  proposed 
visit,  and  said  that  if  Miss  Lind  would  come  and  spend  the 
evening  with  them,  she  hoped  Mr.  Brand  would  come  too. 


NE  W  FRIENDS.  1 03 

"  These  girls  do  tease  dreadfully,  I  know,"  said  their  mamma; 
"  but  perhaps  they  will  behave  a  little  better  before  a  stran- 
ger." 

Mr.  Brand  replied  that  he  hoped  Miss  Lind  would  accept 
the  invitation — for  during  her  father's  absence  she  must  be 
somewhat  dull — but  that  even  without  the  protection  of  her 
presence  he  was  not  afraid  to  face  those  formidable  young 
ladies.  Whereupon  Miss  Geraldine — who  was  generally 
called  the  baby,  though  she  was  turned  thirteen— -glanced  at 
him  with  a  look  which  said,  "  Won't  you  catch  it  for  that !  " 
and  the  mamma  then  bade  him  good-bye,  saying  that  Rbsalys 
would  write  to  him  as  soon  as  the  evening  was  arranged  . 

He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  that  expected  note.  The  very 
next  night  he  received  it.  Miss  Lind  was  coming  on  Thurs- 
day ;  would  that  suit  him  ?  A  quarter  to  eight. 

He  was  there  punctual  to  the  moment.  The  presence  of 
the  whole  rabble  of  girls  in  the  drawing-room  told  him  that 
this  was  to  be  a  quite  private  and  domestic  dinner-party ;  on 
other  occasions  only  two  or  three  of  the  phalanx — as  Miss 
D'Agincourt  described  herself  and  her  sisters — were  chosen 
to  appear.  And,  on  this  especial  occasion,  there  was  a  fine 
hubbub  of  questions  and  raillery  going  on — which  Brand  vainly 
endeavored  to  meet  all  at  once — when  he  was  suddenly  res- 
cued. The  door  was  opened,  and  Miss  Lind  was  announced. 
The  clamor  ceased. 

She  was  dressed  in  black,  with  a  red  camellia  in  her  bosom, 
and  another  in  the  magnificent  black  hair.  Brand  thought  he 
had  never  seen  her  look  so  beautiful,  and  at  once  so  gra- 
ciously proud  and  gentle.  Lady  Evelyn  went  forward  to  meet 
her,  and  greeted  her  very  kindly  indeed.  She  was  intro- 
duced to  one  or  two  of  the  girls.  She  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Brand,  and  gave  him  a  pleasant  smile  of  greeting.  Lady  Eve- 
lyn had  to  apologize  for  her  son's  absence  ;  he  had  only  gone 
to  wnte  a  note. 

The  tall,  beautiful  Hungarian  girl  seemed  not  in  the 
least  embarrassed  by  all  these  curious  eyes,  that  occasion- 
ally and  covertly  regarded  her  while  pretending  not  to  do  so. 
Two  of  the  young  ladies  there  were  older  than  she  was,  yet 
she  seemed  more  of  a  woman  than  any  of  them.  Her  self- 
possession  was  perfect.  She  sat  down  by  Lady  Evelyn,  and 
submitted  to  be  questioned.  The  girls  afterward  told  their 
brother  they  believed  she  was  an  actress,  because  of  the 
clever  manner  in  which  she  managed  her  train. 

But  at  this  moment  Lord  Evelyn  made  his  appearance  in 
great  excitement,  and  with  profuse  apologies. 


104  SUNRISE. 

"  But  the  fact  is,"  said  he,  producing  an  evening  paper, 
"  the  fact  is — just  listen  to  this,  Natalie  :  it  is  the  report  of  a 
police  case." 

At  his  thus  addressing  her  by  her  Christian  name  the 
mother  started  somewhat,  and  the  demure  eyes  of  the  girls 
were  turned  to  the  floor,  lest  they  should  meet  any  conscious 
glance. 

"  Here  is  a  fellow  brought  before  the  Hammersmith  magis- 
trate for  indulging  in  a  new  form  of  amusement.  Oh,  very 
pretty !  very  nice !  He  had  only  got  hold  of  a  small  dog 
and  he  was  taking  it  by  the  two  forelegs,  and  trying  how  far 
he  could  heave  it.  Very  well ;  he  is  brought  before  the  mag- 
istrates. He  had  only  heaved  the  dog  two  or  three  times  ; 
nothing  at  all,  you  know.  You  think  he  will  get  off  with  a 
forty  shillings  fine,  or  something  like  that.  Not  altogether  ! 
Two  months'  hard  labor — two  solid  months'  hard  labor ;  and  if  I 
had  my  will  of  the  brute,"  he  continued,  savagely,  "  I  would 
give  ten  years'  hard  labor,  and  bury  him  alive  when  he  came 
out.  However,  two  months'  hard  labor  is  something.  I 
glory  in  that  magistrate  ;  I  have  just  been  up-stairs  writing  a 
note  asking  him  to  dine  with  me.  I  believe  I  was  introduced 
to  him  once." 

"  Evelyn  quite  goes  beside  himself,"  his  mother  said  to  her 
guest,  with  half  an  air  of  apology,  "  when  he  reads  about 
cruelty  like  that." 

"  Surely  it  is  better  than  being  callous,"  said  Natalie, 
speaking  very  gently. 

They  went  in  to  dinner ;  and  the  young  ladies  were  very 
well  behaved  indeed.  They  did  not  at  all  resent  the  fashion 
in  which  the  whole  attention  of  the  dinner-table  was  given  to 
the  stranger. 

"  And  so  you  like  living  in  England  ? "  said  Lady  Evelyn  to 
her. 

"  I  cannot  breathe  elsewhere,"  was  the  simple  answer. 

"  Why,"  said  the  matter-of-fact,  silver-haired  lady,  "  if  this 
.country  is  notorious  for  anything,  it  is  for  its  foggy  atmos- 
phere ! " 

"  I  think  it  is  famous  for  something  more  than  that,"  said 
the  girl,  with  just  a  touch  of  color  in  the  beautiful  face ;  for 
she  was  not  accustomed  to  speak  before  so  many  people. 
"  Is  it  not  more  famous  for  its  freedom  ?  It  is  that  that 
makes  the  air  so  sweet  to  breathe." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  you  don't  find  it  very  picturesque  as 
compared  with  other  countries.  Evelyn  tells  me  you  have 
travelled  a  great  deal." 


NE  W  FRIENDS.  1 05 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  very  fond  of  picturesqueness,"  Natalie 
said,  modestly.  "  When  I  am  travelling  through  a  country  I 
would  rather  see  plenty  of  small  farms,  thriving  and  prosperous, 
than  splendid  ruins  that  tell  only  of  oppression  and  extrava- 
gance, and  the  fierceness  of  war." 

No  one  spoke  ;  so  she  made  bold  to  continue — but  she  ad- 
dressed Lady  Evelyn  only. 

"  No  doubt  it  is  very  picturesque,  as  you  go  up  the  Rhine,  or 
across  the  See  Kreis,  or  through  the  Lombard  plains,  to  see 
every  height  crowned  with  its  castle.  Yes,  one  cannot  help 
admiring.  They  are  like  beautiful  flowers  that  have  blos- 
somed up  from  the  valleys  and  the  plains  below.  But  who 
tilled  the  land,  that  these  should  grow  there  on  every  height  ? 
Are  you  not  forced  to  think  of  the  toiling  wretches  who  la- 
bored and  labored  to  carry  stone  by  stone  up  the  crest  of  the 
hill  ?  They  did  not  get  much  enjoyment  out  of  the  grandeur 
and  picturesqueness  of  the  castles." 

"  But  they  gave  that  labor  for  their  own  protection,"  Lady 
Evelyn  said,  with  a  smile.  "  The  great  lords  and  barons  were 
their  protectors." 

"  The  great  lords  and  barons  said  so,  at  least,"  said  the 
girl,  without  any  smile  at  all,  "  and  I  suppose  the  peasantry 
believed  them  ;  and  were  quite  willing  to  leave  their  vineyards 
and  go  and  shed  their  blood  whenever  the  great  lords  and 
barons  quarrelled  among  themselves." 

"  Well  said  !  well  said  !  "  Brand  exclaimed,  quickly  ;  though, 
indeed,  this  calm,  gentle-eyed,  self-possessed  girl  was  in  no 
need  of  any  champion. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  great  Radical,  Miss  Lind,"  said 
Lady  Evelyn. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  your  English  air,  Lady  Evelyn,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  smile. 

Lord  Evelyn's  mother,  notwithstanding  her  impassive,  unim- 
aginative nature,  soon  began  to  betray  a  decided  interest  in 
this  new  guest,  and  even  something  more.  She  was  attracted, 
to  begin  with,  by  the  singular  beauty  of  the  young  Hungarian 
lady,  which  was  foreign-looking,  unusual,  picturesque.  She 
was  struck  by  her  perfect  self-possession,  and  by  the  ease  and 
and  grace  of  her  manner,  which  was  rather  that  of  a  mature 
woman  than  of  a  girl  of  nineteen.  But  most  of  all  she  was  in- 
terested in  her  odd  talk  and  opinions,  which  she  expressed 
with  such  absolute  simplicity  and  frankness.  Was  it,  Lady 
Evelyn  asked  herself,  that  the  girl  had  been  brought  up  so 
much  in  the  society  of  men — that  she  had  neither  mother  nor 
sisters — that  she  spoke  of  politics  and  such  matters  as  if  it 


106 

the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  women,  of  whatever 
age,  to  consider  them  as  of  first  importance  ? 

But  one  chance  remark  that  Natalie  made,  on  the  impulse 
of  the  moment,  did  for  the  briefest  possible  time  break  down 
that  charming  self-confidence  of  hers,  and  show  her — to  the 
wonderment  of  the  English  girls — the  prey  of  an  alarmed 
embarrassment.  George  Brand  had  been  talking  of  patriot- 
ism, and  of  the  scorn  that  must  naturally  be  felt  for  the  man 
who  would  say  of  his  country,  "  Well,  it  will  last  my  time. 
Let  me  enjoy  myself  when  I  can.  What  do  I  care  about  the 
future  of  other  people  ? "  And  then  he  went  on  to  talk  of  the 
larger  patriotism  that  concerned  itself  not  merely  with  one's 
fellow-countrymen  but  with  one's  fellow-mortals  ;  and  how  the 
stimulus  and  enthusiasm  of  that  wider  .patriotism  should  be 
proportionately  stronger  ;  and  how  it  might  seek  to  break  down 
artificial  barriers  of  political  systems  and  religious  creeds. 
Patriotism  was  a  beautiful  flame — a  star;  but  here  was  a 
sun.  Ordinary,  to  tell  the  truth,  Brand  was  but  an  indiffer- 
ent speaker — he  had  all  an  Englishman's  self-consciousness ; 
but  now  he  spoke  for  Natalie  alone,  and  minded  the  others 
but  little.  Presently  Lady  Evelyn  said,  with  a  smile, 

"  You,  too,  Miss  Lind,  are  a  reformer,  are  you  not  ?  Eve- 
lyn is  very  mysterious,  and  I  can't  quite  make  out  what  he 
means  ;  but  at  all  events  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  spare  us  an 
evening  when  you  must  be  so  deeply  engaged." 

"  I  ?  "  said  Natalie.  "  Oh  no,  it  is  very  little  that  I  can  do. 
The  work  is  too  difficult  and  arduous  for  women,  perhaps. 
But  there  is  one  thing  that  women  can  do — they  can  love 
and  honor  those  who  are  working  for  them." 

It  was  spoken  impulsively — probably  the  girl  was  thinking 
only  of  her  father.  But  at  the  moment  she  happened  to  look 
up,  and  there  were  Rosalys  D'Agincourt's  calmly  observant 
eyes  fixed  on  her.  Then  some  vague  echo  of  what  she  had 
said  rushed  in  upon  her ;  she  was  bewildered  by  the  possible 
interpretation  others  might  put  on  the  words ;  and  the  quick, 
sensitive  blood  mounted  to  her  forehead.  But  fortunately 
Lady  Evelyn,  who  had  missed  the  whole  thing,  happened  at 
this  very  instant  to  begin  talking  of  orchids,  and  Natalie 
struck  in  with  great  relief.  So  that  little  episode  went  by. 

And,  as  dinner  went  on,  Brand  became  more  and  more  con- 
vinced that  this  family  was  the  most  delightful  family  in  Eng- 
land. Just  so  much  restraint  had  left'their  manner  as  to 
render  those  madcap  girls  exceedingly  frank  and  good-natured 
in  the  courtesy  they  showed  to  their  guest,  and  to  admit  her 
as  a  confidante  into  their  ways  of  bantering  each  other.  And 


NEW  FRIENDS.  107 

one  would  herself  come  round  to  shift  the  fire-screen  behind 
Miss  Lind  to  precisely  the  proper  place ;  and  another  said 
that  Miss  Lind  drank  water  because  Evelyn  had  been  so 
monstrously  stupid  as  not  to  have  any  Hungarian  wine  for 
her ;  and  another  asked  if  she  might  call  on  Miss  Lind  the  fol- 
lowing afternoon,  to  take  her  to  some  place  where  some  mar- 
vellous Japanese  curiosities  were  on  view.  Then,  when  they 
left  for  the  drawing-room,  the  eldest  Miss  D'Agincourt  put 
her  arm  within  the  arm  of  their  guest,  and  said, 

"Now,  dear  Miss  Lind,  please  understand  that,  if  there 
was  any  stranger  here  at  all,  we  should  not  dream  of  asking 
you  to  sing.  Ermentrude  and  I  take  all  that  on  our  shoul- 
ders ;  we  squawk  for  the  whole  of  the  family.  But  Evelyn  has 
told  us  so  much  about  your  singing — " 

"  Oh,  I  will  sing  for  you  if  you  wish  it,"  said  Natalie,  with- 
out hesitation. 

Some  little  time  thereafter  Brand  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  below,  slowly  and  thoughtfully :  he  was  not 
much  of  a  wine-drinker. 

"  Evelyn,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  tell 
you  whether  I  owe  you  a  life-long  gratitude.  I  owe  you 
much  already.  Through  you  I  have  got  some  work  to  do  in 
the  world ;  I  am  busy,  and  content.  But  there  is  a  greater 
prize." 

"  I  think  I  can  guess  what  you  mean."  his  companion  said, 
calmly. 

"  You  do  ? "  said  the  other,  with  a  quick  look.  "  And  you 
do  not  think  I  am  mad  ? — to  go  and  ask  her  to  be  my  wife 
before  she  has  given  me  a  single  word  of  hope  ?  " 

"  She  has  spoken  to  others  about  you :  I  know  what  she 
thinks  of  you,"  said  Lord  Evelyn.  Then  the  fine,  pale  face 
was  slightly  flushed.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  Brand,  I 
thought  of  this  before  you  ever  saw  her." 

"  Thought  of  what  ? "  said  the  other,  with  a  stare  of  surprise. 

"  That  you  would  be  the  right  sort  of  man  to  make  a  hus- 
band for  her :  she  might  be  left  alone  in  the  world  at  any  mo- 
ment, without  a  single  relation,  and  scarcely  a  friend/' 

"Women  don't  marry  for  these  reasons,"  said  the  other, 
somewhat  absently.  "  And  yet,  if  she  were  to  think  of  it,  it 
would  not  be  as  if  I  were  withdrawing  her  from  everything  she 
takes  an  interest  in.  We  should  be  together.  I  am  eager  to 
go  forward,  even  by  myself ;  but  with  her  for  a  companion — 
think  of  that!" 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  with  something 
of  a  sad  smile.  "  Often.  And  there  is  no  man  in  England 


io8  SUNRISE. 

more  heartily  wishes  you  success  than  I  do.  Come,  let  us  go 
up  to  the  drawing-room." 

They  went  out  into  the  hall.  Some  one  was  playing  a  noisy 
piece  up-stairs ;  it  was  safe  to  speak.  And  then  he  said, 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  something,  Brand  ? — something  that  will 
keep  you  awake  all  this  night,  and  not  with  the  saddest  of 
thinking  ?  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  fancy  you  have  already 
'stole  bonny  Glenlyon  away.'  " 


CHAPTER     XVI. 

A    LETTER. 

BLACK  night  lay  over  the  city,  and  silence  ;  the  river  flowed 
unseen  through  the  darkness  ;  but  a  thousand  golden  points 
of  fire  mapped  out  the  lines  of  the  Embankment  and  the  long 
curves  of  the  distant  bridges.  The  infrequent  sounds  that 
could  be  heard  were  strangely  distinct,  even  when  they  were 
faint  and  remote.  There  was  a  slight  rustling  of  wind  in  the 
trees  below  the  window. 

But  the  night  and  the  silence  brought  him  neither  repose 
nor  counsel.  A  multitude  of  bewildering,  audacious  hopes 
and  distracting  fears  strove  for  mastery  in  his  mind,  upsetting 
altogether  the  calm  and  cool  judgment  on  which  he  prided 
himself.  His  was  not  a  nature  to  harbor  illusions ;  he  had  a 
hard  way  of  looking  at  things ;  and  yet — and  yet — might  not 
this  chance  speech  of  Lord  Evelyn  have  been  something 
more  than  a  bit  of  good-humored  raillery7  ?  Lord  Evelyn  was 
Natalie's  intimate  friend  ;  he  knew  all  her  surroundings  ;  he 
was  a  quick  observer ;  he  was  likely  to  know  if  this  thing  was 
possible.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  how  was  it  possible  that  so 
beautiful  a  creature,  in  the  perfect  flower  of  her  youth,  should 
be  without  a  lover  ?  He  forced  himself  to  remember  that 
she  and  her  father  seemed  to  see  no  society  at  all.  Perhaps 
she  was  too  useful  to  him,  and  he  would  not  have  her  entangle 
herself  with  many  friends.  Perhaps  they  had  led  too  no- 
madic a  life.  But  even  in  hotels  abroad,  how  could  she  have 
avoided  the  admiration  she  was  sure  to  evoke  ?  And  in  Flor- 
ence, mayhap,  or  Mentone,  or  Madrid  ;  and  here  he  began  to 
conjure  up  a  host  of  possible  rivals,  all  foreigners,  of  course, 
and  all  equally  detestable,  and  to  draw  pictures  for  him  of 
tables  d'hote,  with  always  the  one  beautiful  figure  there,  un- 
conscious, gentle,  silent,  but  drawing  to  her  all  men's  eyes. 


A  LETTER.  109 

There  was  but  the  one  way  of  putting  an  end  to  this  madden- 
ing uncertainty.  He  dared  not  claim  an  interview  with  her ; 
she  might  be  afraid  of  implying  too  much  by  granting  it; 
various  considerations  might  dictate  a  refusal.  But  he  could 
write ;  and,  in  point  of  fact,  writing-materials  were  on  the 
table.  Again  and  again  he  had  sat  down  and  taken  the  pen 
in  his  hand,  only  to  get-  up  as  often  and  go  and  stare  out  into 
the  yellow  glare  of  the  night.  For  an  instant  his  shadow 
would  fall  on  the  foliage  of  the  trees  below,  and  then  pass 
away  again  like  a  ghost. 

At  two-and-twenty  love  is  reckless,  and  glib  of  speech  ; 
it  takes  little  heed  of  the  future ;  the  light  straw-flame,  for 
however  short  a  period,  leaps  up  merrily  enough.  But  at  two- 
and-thirty  it  is  more  alive  to  consequences ;  it  is  not  the  pres- 
ent moment,  but  the  duration  of  life,  that  it  regards  ;  it  seeks 
to  proceed  with  a  sure  foot.  And  at  this  crisis,  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  irresolution,  that  was  unspeakably  vexatious  to  a 
man  of  his  firm  nature,  Brand  demanded  of  himself  his  utmost 
power  of  self-control.  He  would  not  imperil  the  happiness 
of  his  life  by  a  hasty,  importunate  appeal.  When  at  length 
he  sat  down,  determined  not  to  rise  until  he  had  sent  her  this 
message,  he  forced  himself  to  write — at  the  beginning,  at  least 
— in  a  roundabout  and  indifferent  fashion,  so  that  she  should 
not  be  alarmed.  He  began  by  excusing  his  writing  to  her, 
saying  he  had  scarcely  ever  had  a  chance  of  talking  to  her, 
and  that  he  wished  to  tell  her  something  of  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  since  the  memorable  evening  on  which  he  had 
first  met  her  at  her  father's  house.  And  he  went  on  to  speak 
to  her  of  a  friend  of  his,  who  used  to  amuse  himself  with  the 
notion  that  he  would  like  to  enter  himself  at  a  public  school 
and  go  through  his  school  life  all  over  again.  There  he  had 
spent  the  happiest  of  his  clays;  why  should  he  not  repeat 
them  ?  If  only  the  boys  would  agree  to  treat  him  as  one  of 
themselves,  why  should  he  not  be  hail-fellow-well-met  with 
them,  and  once  more  enjoy  the  fun  of  uproarious  pillow-battles 
and  have  smuggled  tarts  and  lemonade  at  night,  and  tame 
rabbits  where  no  rabbits  should  be,  and  a  profound  hero- 
worship  for  the  captain  of  the  school  Eleven,  and  excursions 
out  of  bounds,  when  his  excess  of  pocket-money  would  enable 
him  to  stand  treat  all  round  ?  "  Why  not  ? "  this  friend  of 
his  used  to  say.  "  Was  it  so  very  impossible  for  one  to  get 
back  the  cares  and  interests,  the  ambitions,  the  amusements, 
the  high  spirits  of  one's  boyhood  ?  "  And  if  he  now  were  to 
tell  her  that  a  far  greater  miracle  had  happened  to  himself? 
That  at  an  age  when  he  had  fancied  he  had  done  and  seen 


no  SC/AW/S&. 

most  things  worth  doing  and  seeing  j  when  the  past  seemed 
to  contain  everything  worth  having,  and  there  was  nothing 
left  but  to  try  how  the  tedious  hours  could  be  got  over;  when 
a  listless  ennui  was  eating  his  very  heart  out — that  he  should 
be  presented,  as  it  were,  with  a  new  lease  of  life,  with  stirring 
hopes  and  interests,  with  a  new  and  beautiful  faith,  with  a 
work  that  was  a  joy  in  itself,  whether  any  reward  was  to  be 
or  no  ?  And  surely  he  could  not  fail  to  express  to  Lord  Eve- 
lyn and  to  herself  his  gratitude  for  this  strange  thing. 

These  are  but  the  harsh  outlines  of  what,  so  far,  he  wrote ; 
but  there  was  a  feeling  in  it — a  touch  of  gladness  and  of  pathos 
here  and  there — that  had  never  before  been  in  any  of  his 
writing,  and  of  which  he  was  himself  unconscious. 

But  at  this  point  he  paused,  and  his  breathing  grew  quick. 
It  was  so  difficult  to  write  in  these  measured  terms.  When 
he  resumed,  he  wrote  more  rapidly. 

What  wonder,  he  made  bold  to  ask  her,  if  amidst  all  this 
bewildering  change  some  still  stranger  dream  of  what  might 
be  possible  in  the  future  should  have  taken  possession  of  him  ? 
She  and  he  were  leagued  in  sympathy  as  regarded  the  chief 
object  of  their  lives ;  it  was  her  voice  that  had  inspired  him  ; 
might  he  not  hope  that  they  should  go  forward  together,  in 
close  friendship  at  least,  if  there  could  be  nothing  more  ? 
And  as  to  that  something  more,  was  there  no  hope?  He 
could  give  himself  no  grounds  for  any  such  hope  ;  and  yet — 
so  much  had  happened  to  him,  and  mostly  through  her,  that 
he  could  set  no  limit  to  the  possibilities  of  happiness  that  lay 
in  her  generous  hands.  When  he  saw  her  among  others,  he 
despaired  ;  when  he  thought  of  her  alone,  and  of  the  gentle- 
ness of  her  heart,  he  dared  to  hope.  And  if  this  declaration 
of  his  was  distressing  to  her,  how  easy  it  was  for  her  to  dis- 
miss and  forget  it.  If  he  had  dared  too  much,  he  had  him- 
self to  blame.  In  any  case,  she  need  not  fear  that  her  re- 
fusal should  have  the  effect  of  dissociating  them  in  those 
wider  interests  and  sympathies  to  which  he  had  pledged 
himself.  He  was  not  one  to  draw-  back.  And  if  he  had 
.ilarmed  or  offended  her,  he  appealed  to  her  charity — to  that 
great  kindness  which  she  seemed  eager  to  extend  to  all  living 
creatures.  How  could  such  a  vision  of  possible  happiness 
have  arisen  in  his  mind  without  his  making  one  effort,  how- 
ever desperate,  to  realize  it  ?  At  the  worst,  she  would  for- 
give. 

This  was,  in  brief,  the  substance  of  what  he  wrote ;  but 
when,  after  many  an  anxious  re-reading,  he  put  the  letter  in  an 
envelope,  he  was  miserably  conscious  how  little  it  conveyed  of 


A  LETTER.  ill 

all  the  hope  and  desire  that  had  hold  of  his  heart.  But  then,  he 
argued  with  himself,  if  she  inclined  her  ear  so  far,  surely  he 
would  have  other  and  better  opportunities  of  pleading  with 
her  ;  whereas,  if  he  had  been  dreaming  of  impossibilities,  then 
he  and  she  would  meet  the  more  easily  in  the  future  that  he 
had  not  given  too  vehement  an  expression  to  all  the  love  and 
admiration  he  felt  for  her.  He  could  not  sacrifice  her  friend- 
ship also — her  society — the  chances  of  listening  from  time  to 
time  to  the  musical,  low,  soft  voice. 

Carrying  this  fateful  letter  in  his  hand,  he  went  down- stairs 
and  out  into  the  cool  night  air.  And  now  he  was  haunted  by 
a  hundred  fears.  Again  and  again  he  was  on  the  point  of 
turning  back  to  add  something,  to  alter  something,  to  find 
some  phrase  that  would  appeal  more  closely  to  her  heart. 
And  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  convinced  himself  that  he  should 
not  have  written  at  all.  Why  not  have  gone  to  see  her,  at 
any  risk,  to  plead  with  herself  ?  But  then  he  would  have  had 
to  write  to  beg  for  a  tete-a-tete  interview ;  and  would  not  that 
be  more  distinctly  alarming  than  this  roundabout  epistle, 
which  was  meant  to  convey  so  much  indirectly  ?  Finally,  he 
arrived  at  the  pillar  letter-box ;  and  this  indisputable  fact 
brought  an  end  to  his  cogitations.  If  he  had  gone  walking 
onward  he  would  have  wasted  the  night  in  fruitless  counsel. 
He  would  -have  repeated  again  and  again  the  sentences  he 
had  used ;  striven  to  picture  her  as  she  read  ;  wondered  if  he 
ought  not  still  ^to  go  back  and  strengthen  his  prayer.  But 
now  it  was  to  b'e  yes  or  no.  Well,  he  posted  the  letter;  and 
then  he  breathed  more  freely.  The  die  was  cast,  for  good  or  ill. 

And,  indeed,  no  sooner  was  the  thing  done  than  his  spirits 
rose  considerably,  and  he  walked  on  with  a  lighter  heart. 
This  solitary  London,  all  lamp-lit  and  silent,  was  a  beautiful 
city.  "  Schlaf  sdigund suss"  the  soft  stirring  of  the  night- 
wind  seemed  to  say  :  let  her  not  dread  the  message  the  morn- 
ing would  bring  !  He  thought  of  the  other  cities  she  must 
have  visited ;  and  if — ah,  the  dream  of  it ! — if  he  and  she 
were  to  go  away  together  to  behold  the  glories  of  the  moon- 
light on  the  lagoon,  and  the  wonders  of  the  sunrise  among  the 
hills  !  He  had  been  in  Rome,  he  remembered,  a  wonderful 
coronet  of  rubies :  would  not  that  do  for  the  beautiful  black 
masses  of  hair  ?  Or  pearls  ?  She  did  not  appear  to  have 
much  jewellery.  Or  rather — seeing  that  such  things  are  pos- 
sible between  husband  and  wife — would  she  not  accept  the 
value,  and  far  more  than  the  value,  of  any  jewellery  she  could 
desire,  to  be  given  away  in  acts  of  kindness  ?  That  would  be 
more  like  Natalie. 


H2  SUNRISE. 

He  walked  on,  his  heart  full  of  an  audacious  joy  ;  for  now 
this  was  the  picture  before  him  ;  a  Buckinghamshire  hill ;  a 
red  and  white  house  among  the  beeches ;  and  a  spacious 
lawn  looking  out  on  the  far  and  wooded  plain,  with  its  villages, 
and  spires,  and  tiny  curls  of  smoke.  And  this  foreign  young 
lady  become  an  English  house-mistress  ;  proud  of  her  necta- 
rines and  pineapples  ;  proud  of  her  Hungarian  horses ;  proud 
of  the  quiet  and  comfort  of  the  home  she  can  offer  to  her  friends, 

when  they  come  for  a  space  to  rest  from  their  labors 

"  Schlaf '  selig  und  suss  !  "  the  night-wind  seemed  to  say  :  "  The 
white  morning  is  bringing  with  it  a  message  ! " 

To  him  the  morning  brought  an  end  to  all  those  golden 
dreams  of  the  night.  There  action  had  set  in.  His  old  mis- 
givings returned  with  redoubled  force.  For  one  thing,  there 
was  a  letter  from  Reitzei,  saying  that  the  man  Kirski  had  at 
length  consented  to  begin  to  work  at  his  trade,  and  that  Miss 
Lincl  need  fear  no  further  annoyance ;  and  somehow  he  did 
not  like  to  see  her  name  written  in  this  foreign  way  of  writing. 
She  belonged  to  these  foreigners  ;  her  cares  and  interests 
were  not  those  of  one  who  would  feel  at  home  in  that  Buck- 
hamshire  home  ;  she  was  remote.  And,  of  course,  in  her 
manifold  wanderings — in  those  hotels  in  which  she  had  to 
pass  the  day,  when  her  father  was  absent  at  his  secret  inter- 
views— how  could  she  avoid  making  acquaintances  ?  Even 
among  those  numerous  friends  of  her  father's  there  must 
have  been  some  one  here  or  there  to  accompany  her  in 
her  drives  in  the  Prater,  in  her  evenings  at  La  Scala,  in  her 
morning  walk  along  the  Chiaja.  He  remembered  how  seldom 
he  had  seen  her ;  she  might  have  many  more  friends  in  Lon- 
don than  he  had  dreamed  of.  Who  could  see  her,  and  remain 
blind  to  her  beauty  ?  Who  could  know  her,  and  remain  in- 
sensible to  the  fascination  of  her  enthusiasm,  her  faith  in  the 
right,  her  courage,  her  hope,  her  frank  friendship  with  those 
who  would  help  ? 

He  was  impatient  with  the  veteran  W7aters  this  morning  ; 
and  Waters  was  himself  fractious,  and  inclined  to  resent  sar- 
casm. He  had  just  heard  from  Buckinghamshire  that  his 
substitute  had,  for  some  reason  or  other,  intrusted  the  keys 
of  the  wine-cellar  to  one  of  the  house-maids  ;  and  that  that 
industrious  person  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  tilt  up  all 
the  port-wine  she  could  lay  her  hands  on  in  order  to  polish 
the  bottles  with  a  duster. 

"Well,"  said  his  master,  "  I  suppose  she  collected  the  cob- 
webs and  sold  them  to  a  wine-merchant  :  they  would  be  in- 
valuable." 


A  LETTER.  113 

Waters  said  nothing,  but  resolved  to  have  a  word  with  the 
young  woman  when  he  went  down. 

The  morning  was  fine  ;  in  any  case,  Brand  could  not  have 
borne  the  distress  of  waiting  in  all  day,  on  the  chance  of  her 
reply  coming.  He  had  to  be  moving.  He  walked  up  to 
Lisle  Street,  and  saw  Reitzei,  on  the  pretext  of  talking  about 
Kirski. 

"  Lind  will  be  back  in  a  week,"  said  the  pallid-faced  smart 
young  man.  "  He  writes  with  great  satisfaction,  which  al- 
ways means  something  in  his  case.  I  should  not  wonder  if 
he  and  his  daughter  went  to  live  in  the  States." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Brand,  coldly ;  but  the  words  made 
his  heart  tremble. 

"  Yes.  And  if  you  would  only  go  through  the  remaining 
degrees,  you  might  take  his  place — who  knows  ?  " 

"  Who  knows,  indeed  ?  "  said  Brand.  "  But  I  don't  covet 
the  honor." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  which  made  the  other 
look  up. 

"  I  mean  the  responsibility,"  he  said,  quickly. 

"  You  see,"  observed  Reitzei,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
"  one  must  admit  you  are  having  rather  hard  lines.  Your 
work  is  invaluable  to  us — Lind  is  most  proud  of  it — but  it  is 
tedious  and  difficult,  eh  ?  Now  if  they  were  to  give  you 
something  like  the  Syrian  business — " 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Oh,  only  one  of  the  many  duties  the  Society  has  under- 
taken," said  Reitzei,  carelessly.  "  Not  that  I  approve  be- 
cause the  people  are  Christians  ;  it  is  because  they  are  numer- 
ically weak  ;  and  the  Mahommedans  treat  them  shamefully. 
There  is  no  one  knows  about  it ;  no  one  to  make  a  row  about 
it ;  and  the  Government  won't  let  the  poor  wretches  import 
arms  to  defend  themselves.  Very  well :  very  well,  messieurs  ! 
But  your  Government  allow  the  importation  of  guns  for  sport. 
Ha !  and  then,  if  one  can  find  money,  and  an  ingenious  Eng- 
lish firm  to  make  rifle-barrels  to  fit  into  the  sporting-gun  stock 
can  you  conceive  any  greater  fun  than  smuggling  these  bar- 
rels into  the  country  ?  My  dear  fellow,  it  is  glorious  :  we 
could  have  five  hundred  volunteers  !  But  at  the  same  time  I 
say  your  work  is  more  valuable  to  us.  No  one  but  an  Eng- 
lishman could  do  it.  Every  one  knows  of  your  success." 

Brand  thanked   Reitzei  for  his  good  opinion,  and  rather 

absently  took  up  his  hat  and  left.     Instinctively  he  made  his 

way  westward.     He  was  sure  to  see  her,  at  a  distance,  taking 

this  morning  stroll  of  hers  :  might  he  not  guess  something 

8 


ii4  S&NRISE. 

from  her  face  as  to  what  her  reply  would  be  ?  She  could  not 
have  written  so  soon  ;  she  would  take  time  to  consider  ;  even 
a  refusal  would,  he  knew,  be  gently  worded. 

In  any  case,  he  would  see  her  ;  and  if  her  answer  gave  no 
hope,  it  would  be  the  last  time  on  which  he  would  follow  that 
graceful  figure  from  afar  with  his  eyes,  and  wonder  to  himself 
what  the  low  and  musical  voice  was  saying  to  Anneli.  And 
as  he  walked  on,  he  grew  more  and  more  downhearted.  It 
was  a  certainty  that,  out  of  all  those  friends  of  her  father's 
some  one  must  have  dreamed  of  possessing  this  beautiful 
prize  for  his  own. 

When,  after  not  much  waiting,  he  saw  Natalie  and  Anneli 
cross  into  the  Park,  he  had  so  reasoned  himself  into  despair 
that  he  was  not  surprised — at  least  he  tried  to  convince  him- 
self that  he  was  not  surprised — to  perceive  that  the  former 
was  accompanied  by  a  stranger,  the  little  German  maid-serv- 
ant walking  not  quite  with  them,  and  yet  not  altogether  be- 
hind them.  He  could  almost  have  expected  this  ;  and  yet 
his  eyes  seemed  hot,  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in  trying  to 
make  out  who  this  might  be.  And  at  this  great  distance  he 
could  only  gather  that  he  was  foreign  in  appearance,  and 
that  he  wore  a  peaked  cap  in  place  of  a  hat. 

He  dared  not  follow  them  now  ;  and  he  was  about  to  turn 
away  when  he  saw  Natalie's  new  companion  motion  to  her 
to  sit  down  on  one  of  the  seats.  He  sat  down,  too  ;  and* 
he  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  in  his.  What  then  ? 

This  man  looking  on  from  a  distance,  with  a  bitter  heart, 
had  no  thought  against  her.  Was  it  not  natural  for  so  beau- 
tiful a  girl  to  have  a  lover  ?  But  that  this  fellow — this  for- 
eigner— should  degrade  her  by  treating  her  as  if  she  were  a 
nursery-maid  flirting  with  one  of  the  soldiers  from  the  bar- 
racks down  there,  this  filled  him  with  bitterness  and  hatred. 
He  turned  and  walked  away  with  a  firm  step.  He  had  no 
ill  thoughts  of  her,  whatever  message  she  might  send  him. 
At  the  worst,  she  had  been  generous  to  him  ;  she  had  filled 
his  life  with  love  and  hope  ;  she  had  given  him  a  future.  If 
this  dream  were  shattered,  at  least  he  could  turn  elsewhere, 
and  say,  "  Labor,  be  thou  my  good." 

Meanwhile,  of  this  stranger  ?  He  had  indeed  taken  Nata- 
lie Lind's  hand  in  his,  and  Natalie  let  it  remain  there  without 
hesitation. 

"  My  little  daughter,"  said  he  to  her  in  Italian,  "  I  could 
have  recognized  you  by  your  hands.  You  have  the  hands  of 
your  mother  :  no  one  in  the  world  had  more  beautiful  hands 


CALABRESSA.  115 

than  she  had.     And  now  I  will  tell  you  about  her,  if  you  prom- 
ise not  to  cry  any  more." 
It  was  Calabressa  who  spoke. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CALABRESSA. 

WHEN  Calabressa  called  at  the  house  in  Curzon  Street  he 
was  at  once  admitted  ;  Natalie  recognizing  the  name  as  that 
of  one  of  her  father's  old  friends.  Calabressa  had  got  him- 
self up  very  smartly,  to  produce  an  impression  on  the  little 
Natalushka  whom  he  expected  to  see.  His  military-looking 
coat  was  tightly  buttoned  ;  he  had  burnished  up  the  gold 
braid  of  his  cap  ;  and  as  he  now  ascended  the  stairs  he  gath- 
ered the  ends  of  his  mustache  out  of  his  yellow-white  beard 
^and  curled  them  round  and  round  his  fingers  and  pulled 
*them  out  straight.  He  had  already  assumed  a  pleasant 
smile. 

But  when  he  entered  the  shaded  drawing-room,  and  beheld 
this  figure  before  him,  all  the  dancing-master's  manner  in- 
stantly fled  from  him.  He  seemed  thunderstruck  ;  he  shrunk 
back  a  little  ;  his  cap  fell  to  the  floor ;  he  could  not  utter  a 
word. 

"  Excuse  me — excuse  me,  mademoiselle,"  he  gasped  out 
at  length,  in  his  odd  French.  "  Ah,  it  is  like  a  ghost — like 
other  years  come  back — " 

He  stared  at  her. 

"  I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  she  to  him,  gently, 
in  Italian. 

"  Her  voice  also — her  voice  also  !  "  he  exclaimed,  almost  to 
himself,  in  the  same  tongue.  "  Signorina,  you  will  forgive 
me — but — when  one  sees  an  old  friend — you  are  so  like — ah, 
so  like—" 

"You  are  speaking  of  my  mother  ?  "  the  girl  said,  with  her 
eyes  cast  down.  "  I  have  been  told  that  I  was  like  her.  You 
knew  her,  signore  ? " 

Calabressa  pulled  himself  together  somewhat.  He  picked 
up  his  cap ;  he  assumed  a  more  business-like  air. 

"  Oh  yes,  signorina,  I  knew  her,"  he  said,  with  an  apparent 
carelessness,  but  he  was  regarding  her  all  the  same.  "  Yes,  I 
knew  her  well.  We  were  friends  long  before  she  married. 
What,  are  you  surprised  that  I  am  so  old  ?  Do  you  know 


u6  SUNRISE. 

that  I  can  remember  you  when  you  were  a  very  little  thing — 
at  Dunkirk  it  was — and  what  a  valiant  young  lady  you  were, 
and  you  would  go  to  fight  the  Russians  all  by  yourself  !  And 
you — you  do  not  remember  your  mother?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  she  said,  sadly.  "They  say  it  is  impossi- 
ble, and  yet  I  seem  to  remember  one  who  loved  me,  and  my 
grief  when  I  asked  for  her  and  found  she  would  never  come 
back — or  else  that  is  only  my  recollection  of  what  I  was  told 
by  others.  But  what  of  that  ?  I  know  where  she  is  now : 
she  is  my  constant  Companion.  I  know  she  loved  me ;  I 
know  she  is  always  regarding  me ;  I  talk  to  her,  so  that  I  am 
never  quite  alone ;  at  night  I  pray  to  her,  as  if  she  were  a 
saint — " 

She  turned  aside  somewhat ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
Calabressa  said  quickly, 

"  Ah,  signorina,  why  recall  what  is  so  sad  ?  It  is  so  useless. 
Allans  done  f  shall  I  tell  you  of  my  surprise  when  I  saw  you 
first?  A  ghost — that  is  nothing!  It  is  true,  your  father 
warned  me.  He  said,  'The  little  Natalushka  is  a  woman 
now.'  But  how  could  one  believe  it  ?  " 

She  had  recovered  her  composure  ;  she  begged  him  to  be 
seated. 

"Bien!  One  forgets.  Then  my  old  mother — my  dear 
young  lady,  even  I,  old  as  I  am,  have  a  mother — what  does 
she  do  but  draw  a  prize  in  the  Austro-Hungarian  lottery — a 
huge  prize — enough  to  demoralize  one  for  life — five  thousand 
florins.  More  remarkable  still,  the  money  is  paid.  Not  so 
remarkable,  my  good  mother  declares  she  will  give  half  of  it 
to  an  undutiful  son,  who  has  never  done  very  well  with 
money  in  this  world.  We  come  to  the  denouement  quickly. 
'  What,'  said  I,  *  shall  I  do  with  my  new-found  liberty  and  my 
new-found  money  ?  To  the  devil  with  banks  !  I  will  be  off 
and  away  to  the  land  of  fogs  to  see  my  little  friend  Natalush- 
ka, and  ask  her  what  she  thinks  of  the  Russians  now.'  And 
the  result  ?  My  little  daughter,  you  have  given  me  such  a 
fright  that  I  can  feel  my  hands  still  trembling." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  she,  with  a  smile.  This  gay  man- 
ner of  his  had  driven  away  her  sad  memories.  It  seemed 
quite  natural  to  her  that  he  should  address  her  as  "  My  little 
daughter." 

"  But  where  are  the  fogs  ?  It  is  a  paradise  that  I  have 
reached — the  air  clear  and  soft,  the  gardens  beautiful. 
This  morning  I  said  to  myself,  *  I  will  go  early.  Perhaps  the 
little  Natalushka  will  be  going  out  for  a  walk ;  perhaps  we 
will  go  together.'  No,  signorina,"  said  he,  with  a  mock- 


CALABRESSA.  117 

heroic  bow,  "  it  was  not  with  the  intention  of  buying  you  toys. 
But  was  I  not  right?  Do  I  not  perceive  by  your  costume 
that  you  were  about  to  go  out  ? " 

"That  is  nothing,  signore,"  said  she.  "  It  would  be  very 
strange  if  I  could  not  give  up  my  morning  walk  for  an  old 
friend  of  my  father's." 

"  Au  contraire,  you  shall  not  give  up  your  walk,"  said  he, 
with  great  courtesy.  "  We  will  go  together ;  and  then  you 
will  tell  me  about  your  father." 

She  accepted  this  invitation  without  the  slightest  scruple. 
It  did  not  occur  to  her — as  it  would  naturally  have  occurred 
to  most  English  girls — that  she  would  rather  not  go  walking 
in  Hyde  Park  with  a  person  who  looked  remarkably  like  the 
leader  of  a  German  band. 

But  Calabressa  had  known  her  mother. 

"  Ah,  signore,"  said  she,  when  they  had  got  into  the  outer 
air,  "  I  shall  be  so  grateful  to  you  if  you  will  tell  me  about 
my  mother.  My  father  will  not  speak  of  her;  I  dare  not 
awaken  his  grief  again ;  he  must  have  suffered  much.  You 
will  tell  me  about  her." 

"  My  little  daughter,  your  father  is  wise.  Why  awaken 
old  sorrows  ?  You  must  not  spoil  your  eyes  with  more  cry- 
ing." 

And  then  he  went  on  to  speak  of  all  sorts  of  things,  in  his 
rapid,  interjectional  fashion — of  his  escape  from  prison 
mostly — until  he  perceived  that  she  was  rather  silent  and 
sad. 

"  Come  then,"  said  he,  "  we  will  sit  down  on  this  seat. 
Give  me  your  hand." 

She  placed  her  hand  in  his  without  hesitation  ;  and  he 
patted  it  gently,  and  said  how  like  it  was  to  the  hand  of  her 
mother. 

"  You  are  a  little  taller  than  she  was,"  said  he  ;  "  a  little — 
not  much.  Ah,  how  beautiful  she  was!  She  had  many 
sweethearts." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Some  of  them  richer,  some  of  them  of  nobler  birth  than 
your  father ;  and  one  of  them  her  own  cousin,  whom  all  her 
family  wanted  her  to  marry.  But  you  know,  little  daughter, 
your  father  is  a  very  determined  man — " 

"  But  she  loved  him  the  best  ?  "  said  the  girl,  quickly. 

"Ah,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Calabressa.  "He  is  very 
kind  to  you,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  Who  could  be  kinder  ?  But  about  my  mother, 
signore  ? " 


1 18  SUNRISE. 

Calabressa  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  To  say  the  truth,  little  daughter,  how  am  I  to  tell  you  ?  I 
scarcely  ever  saw  her  after  she  married.  Before  then,  you  must 
imagine  yourself  as  you  are  to  think  of  her  picture  :  and  she 
was  very  much  beloved — and  very  fond  of  horses.  Is  not 
that  enough  to  tell  ?  Ah,  yes,  another  thing :  she  was  very 
brave  when  there  was  any  danger ;  and  you  know  all  the  fam- 
ily were  strong  patriots  ;  and  one  or  two  got  into  sad  trouble. 
When  her  father — that  is  your  grandfather,  little  daughter — 
when  he  failed  to  escape  into  Turkey  after  the  assassina- 
tion—" 

Here  Calabressa  stopped,  and  then  gave  a  slight  wave  of 
his  hand. 

"  These  are  matters  not  interesting  to  you.  But  when  her 
father  had  to  seek  a  hiding-place  she  went  with  him  in  de- 
spite of  everybody.  I  do  not  suppose  he  would  be  alive  now 
but  for  her  devotion." 

"  Is  my  mother's  father  alive  ? "  the  girl  said,  with  eyes 
wide  open. 

"  I  belive  so ;  but  the  less  said  about  it  the  better,  little 
daughter." 

"  Why  has  my  father  never  told  me  ?  "  she  asked,  with  the 
same  almost  incredulous  stare. 

"  Have  I  not  hinted  ?  The  less  said  the  better.  There 
are  some  things  no  government  will  amnesty.  Your  grand- 
father was  a  good  patriot,  little  daughter." 

Thereafter  for  some  minutes  silence.  Slight  as  was  the  in- 
formation Calabressa  had  given  her,  it  was  of  intensest 
interest  to  her.  There  was  much  for  her  to  think  over.  Her 
mother,  whom  she  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  as  a 
beautiful  saint,  placed  far  above  the  common  ways  of  earth, 
was  suddenly  presented  to  her  in  a  new  light.  She  thought 
of  her  young,  handsome,  surrounded  with  lovers,  proud- 
spirited and  patriotic— a  devoted  daughter,  a  brave  woman. 

"  You  also  loved  her  ?  "  she  said  to  Calabressa. 

The  man  started.  She  had  spoken  quite  innocently — al- 
most absently  :  she  was  thinking  that  he,  too,  must  have  loved 
the  brave  young  Hungarian  girl  as  all  the  world  loved  her. 

"I?"  said  Calabressa.  "Oh  yes,  I  was  a  friend  of  hers 
for  many  years.  I  taught  her  Italian ;  she  corrected  my 
Magyar.  Once  her  horse  ran  way  ;  I  was  walking,  and  saw 
her  coming  ;  there  was  a  wagon  and  oxen,  and  I  shouted  to 
the  man ;  he  drew  the  oxen  right  across  the  road,  and  barred 
the  way.  Ah,  how  angry  she  used  to  be — she  pretended  to 


CALABRESSA.  119 

be — when  they  told  her  I  had  saved  her  life  !  She  was  a 
bold  rider." 

Presently  Calabressa  said,  with  a  lighter  air, 

"Come,  let  us  talk  of  something  else — of  you, par exemple. 
How  do  you  like  the  English  ?  You  have  many  sweethearts 
among  them,  of  course." 

"  No,  signore,  I  have  no  sweethearts,"  said  Natalie,  with- 
out any  trace  of  embarrassment. 

"What!  Is  is  possible  ?  When  I  saw  your  father  in 
Venice,  and  he  told  me  the  little  Natelushka  had  grown  to  be  a 
woman,  I  said  to  him, '  Then  she  will  marry  an  Englishman.'  ' 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  "  the  girl  asked,  with  a  startled  look 
on  her  face. 

"  Oh,  little,  very  little.  If  there  was  no  possibility,  why 
should  he  say  much  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  sweethearts,"  said  Natalie,  simply  ;  "  but  I  have 
a  friend — who  wishes  to  be  more  than  a  friend.  And  it  is  now, 
when  I  have  to  answer  him,  it  is  now  that  I  know  what  a  sad 
thing  it  is  to  have  no  mother." 

The  pathetic  vibration  that  Brand  had  noticed  was  in  her 
voice ;  her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  hands  clasped.  For 
a  second  or  two  Calabressa  was  silent. 

"  I  am  not  idly  curious,  my  little  daughter,"  he  said  at 
length,  and  very  gently ;  "  but  if  you  knew  how  long  your 
mother  and  I  were  friends,  you  would  understand  the  interest 
I  feel  in  you,  and  why  I  came  all  this  way  to  see  the  little 
Natalushka.  So,  one  question,  dear  little  one.  Does  your 
father  approve  ?  " 

"  Ah,  how  can  I  tell  ?  " 

He  took  her  hand,  and  his  face  was  grave. 

"  Listen  now,"  said  he ;  "I  am  going  to  give  you  advice. 
If  your  mother  could  speak  to  you,  this  is  what  she  would 
say  :  Whatever  happens — whatever  happens — do  not  thwart 
your  father's  wishes." 

She  wished  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  he  still  held  it. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said.  "  Papa's  wishes 
will  always  be  for  my  happiness  ;  why  should  I  think  of 
thwarting  them  ? " 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  And  again,  why  ?  It  is  my  advice  to  you, 
my  little  daughter,  whether  you  think  your  father's  wishes 
are  for  your  happiness  or  not — because,  you  know,  sometimes 
fathers  and  daughters  have  different  ideas — do  not  go  against 
his  will." 

The  hot  blood  mounted  to  Natalie's  forehead — for  the  first 
time  during  this  interview. 


120  SUNRISE. 

"  Are  you  predicting  strife,  signore  ?  I  owe  obedience  to 
my  father,  I  know  it  ;  but  I  am  not  a  child.  I  am  a  woman, 
and  have  my  own  wishes.  My  papa  would  not  think  of 
thwarting  them." 

"  Natalushka,  you  must  not  be  angry  with  me." 

"  I  am  not  angry,  signore  ;  but  you  must  not  suppose  that  I 
am  quite  a  child." 

"  Pardieu,  non  !  "  said  Calabressa.  "  I  expected  to  find 
Natalushka  ;  I  find  Natalie — ah,  Heaven  !  that  is  the  wonder 
and  the  sadness  of  it  to  me  !  I  think  I  am  talking  to  your 
mother :  these  are  her  hands.  I  listen  to  her  voice :  it 
seems  twenty  years  ago.  And  you  have  a  proud  spirit,  as 
she  had :  again  I  say — do  not  thwart  your  father's  wishes, 
Natalie — rather,  Natalushka !  " 

He  spoke  with  such  an  obvious  kindness  and  earnestness 
that  she  could  not  feel  offended. 

"  And  if  you  want  any  one  to  help  you  at  any  time,  my  lit- 
tle daughter — for  who  knows  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  what 
may  happen  ? — if  your  father  is  sent  away,  and  you  are  alone, 
and  you  want  some  one  to  do  something  for  you,  then  this  is 
what  you  will  say  to  yourself  :  *  There  is  that  old  fool  Cala- 
bressa, who  has  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  smoke  cigar- 
ettes and  twirl  his  mustache — I  will  send  for  Calabressa.' 
And  this  I  promise,  little  one,  that  Calabressa  will  very  soon 
be  at  your  feet." 

"  I  thank  you  signore." 

"It  is  true,  I  may  be  away  on  duty,  as  your  father  might 
be ;  but  I  have  friends  at  head-quarters  ;  I  have  done  some 
service.  And  if  I  were  to  say,  *  Calabressa  wishes  to  be 
relieved  from  duty ;  it  is  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi 
who  demands  his  presence,'  I  know  the  answer  :  '  Calabressa 
will  proceed  at  once  to  obey  the  commands  of  the  daughter 
of  Natalie  Berezolyi.' " 

"  But  who—" 

"  No,  my  little  daughter,  you  must  not  ask  that.  I  will  tell 
you  only  that  they  are  all-powerful ;  that  they  will  pro- 
tect you — with  Calabressa  as  their  agent ;  and  before  I  leave 
this  city  I  will  give  you  my  address,  or  rather  I  will  give  you 
an  address  where  you  will  find  some  one  who  will  guide  you 
to  me.  May  Heaven  grant  that  there  be  no  need.  Why 
should  harm  come  to  one  who  is  so  beautiful  and  so  gentle  ?  " 

"  My  mother — was  she  happy  ?  "  she  said  quickly. 

"Little  daughter,"  said  he,  sharply,  and  he  threw  away  her 
hand,  "  if  you  ask  me  any  more  questions  about  your  mother 
you  will  make  my  heart  bleed.  Do  you  not  understand  so 


CALABRESSA.  121 

simple  a  thing  as  that,  you  who  claim  to  be  a  woman  ?  You 
have  been  stabbing  me.  Come,  come :  allons  ! — let  us  talk 
of  something  else — of  your  friend  who  wishes  to  be  more 
than  a  friend — you  wicked  little  one,  who  have  no  sweet- 
heart !  And  what  are  those  fools  of  English  about  ?  What  ? 
But  tell  me — is  he  one  of  us  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  signore,"  said  she ;  and  instead  of  showing  any 
shamefacedness,  she  turned  toward  him  and  regarded  him 
with  the  fearless,  soft  dark  eyes.  "  How  could  you  think 
otherwise  ?  And  he  is  so  brave  and  noble  :  he  is  not  afraid 
of  sacrificing  those  things  that  the  English  put  such  store 
by—" 

"  English  ?  "  said  Calabressa. 

"  Yes,"  said  Natalie  ;  and  now  she  looked  down. 

"  And  what  does  your  heart  say  ?  " 

She  spoke  very  gently  in  reply. 

"  Signor,  I  have  not  answered  him  yet ;  you  cannot  expect 
me  to  answer  you." 

"  A  la  bonne  heure  !  Little  traitress,  to  say  she  has  no 
sweethearts  !  Happy  Englishman  !  What,  then,  do  I  dis- 
tress you  ?  It  is  not  so  simple  !  It  is  an  embarrassment, 
this  proposal  that  he  has  made  to  you !  But  I  will  not 
trouble  you  further  with  my  questions,  little  daughter:  how 
can  an  old  jail-bird  like  myself  understand  a  young  linnet- 
thing  that  has  always  been  flying  and  fluttering  about  in  hap- 
piness and  the  free  air  ?  Enfin,  let  us  go  !  I  perceive  your 
little  maid  is  tired  of  standing  and  staring ;  perhaps  it  is  time 
for  you  to  go  back." 

She  rose,  and  the  three  of  them  slowly  proceeded  along 
the  gravelled  path. 

"  Your  father  does  not  return  until  next  week  :  must  I  wait 
a  whole  week  in  this  desert  of  a  town  before  seeing  you 
again,  petite  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Natalie,  smiling ;  "  that  is  not  necessary. 
If  my  papa  were  here  now  he  would  certainly  ask  you  to  dine 
with  us  to-night ;  may  I  do  so  in  his  place  ?  You  will  not 
find  much  amusement ;  but  Madame  Potecki — you  knew  her 
husband,  perhaps  ? " 

"  Potecki  the  Pole,  who  was  killed  ? " 

"  Yes.  She  will  play  a  little  music  for  you.  But  there  are 
so  many  amusements  in  London,  perhaps  you  would  rather 
not  spend  your  evening  with  two  poor  solitary  creatures  like 
us." 

"  My -little  daughter,  to  hear  you  speak,  that  is  all  I  want; 
it  takes  twenty  years  away  from  my  life  ;  I  do  not  know 


122  SUNRISE. 

whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry.  But  courage  !  we  will  put  a  good 
face  on  our  little  griefs.  This  evening — this  evening  I  will 
pretend  to  myself  something — I  am  going  to  live  my  old  life 
over  again — for  an  hour ;  I  will  blow  a  horn  as  soon  as  I 
have  crossed  the  Erlau,  and  they  will  hear  it  up  at  the  big 
house  among  the  pines,  where  the  lights  are  shining  through 
the  dark,  and  they  will  send  a  servant  down  to  open  the 
gates  ;  and  you  will  appear  at  the  hall-door,  and  say,  '  Signor 
Calabressa,  why  do  you  make  such  a  noise  to  awaken  the 
dogs  ? '  And  I  will  say,  '  Dear  Miss  Berezolyi,  the  pine- 
woods  are  frightfully  dark  ;  may  I  not  scare  away  the  ghosts  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  mother  who  received  you,"  the  girl  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  It  was  Natalie  then ;  to-night  it  will  be  Natalushka." 

He  spoke  lightly,  so  as  not  to  make  these  reminiscences 
too  serious.  But  the  conjunction  of  the  two  names  seemed 
suddenly  to  startle  the  girl.  She  stopped,  and  looked  him 
in  the  face. 

"It  was  you,  then,''  she  said,  "  who  sent  me  the  locket  ? " 

"  What  locket  ? "  he  said,  with  surprise. 

"The  locket  the  lady  dropped  into  my  lap — *  From  Natalie 
to  Natalushka:  " 

"  I  declare  to  you,  little  daughter,  I  never  heard  of  it." 

The  girl  looked  bewildered. 

"  Ah,  how  stupid  I  am  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  could  not 
understand.  But  if  they  always  called  her  Natalie,  and  me 
Natalushka—" 

She  paused  for  a  moment  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

"  Signor  Calabresste,  what  does  it  mean  ?  "  she  said,  almost 
wildly.  "  If  one  sends  me  a  locket — '  From  Natalie  to  Nata- 
lushka ' — was  it  my  mother's  ?  Did  she  intend  it  for  me  ? 
Did  she  leave  it  for  me  with  some  one,  long  ago  ?  How 
could  it  come  into  the  hands  of  a  stranger  ? " 

Calabressa  himself  seemed  rather  bewildered — almost 
alarmed. 

"  My  little  daughter,  you  have  no  doubt  guessed  right,"  he 
said,  soothingly.  "  Your  mother  may  have  meant  it  for  you — 
and — and  perhaps  it  was  lost — and  just  recovered — " 

"  Signor  Calabressa,"  said  she — and  he  could  have  fancied 
it  was  her  mother  who  was  speaking  in  that  low,  earnest,  al- 
most sad  voice — "  you  said  you  would  do  me  an  act  of  friend- 
ship if  I  asked  you.  I  cannot  ask  my  father ;  he  seems  too 
grieved  to  speak  of  my  mother  at  any  time  ;  but  do  you  think 
you  could  find  out  who  the  lady  was  who  brought  that  locket 
to  me  ?  That  would  be  kind  of  you,  if  you  could  do  that." 


HER  ANSWER.  123 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HER   ANSWER. 

HUMPHREYS,  the  delegate  from  the  North,  and  O'Halloran, 
the  Irish  reporter,  had  been  invited  by  George  Brand  to  dine 
with  him  on  this  evening — Humphreys  having  to  start  for 
Wolverhampton  next  day — and  the  three  were  just  sitting 
down  when  Lord  Evelyn  called  in,  uninvited,  and  asked  if  he 
might  have  a  plate  placed  for  him.  Humphreys  was  anxious 
that  their  host  should  set  out  with  him  for  the  North  in  the 
morning  ;  but  Brand  would  not  promise.  He  was  obviously 
thinking  of  other  things.  He  was  at  once  restless,  preoccu- 
pied, and  silent. 

"  I  hope,  my  lord,  you  have  come  to  put  our  friend  here  in 
better  spirits,"  said  Humphreys,  blushing  a  little  as  he  ven- 
tured to  call  one  of  the  Brands  of  Darlington  his  friend. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

At  this  moment  Waters  appeared  at  the  door  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand.  Brand  instantly  rose,  went  forward  to  him  and 
took  the  letter,  and  retired  into  an  adjoining  room.  Without 
looking,  he  know  from  whom  it  had  come. 

His  hand  was  shaking  as  he  opened  the  envelope ;  but  the 
words  that  met  his  eyes  were  calm. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letter  has  given  me  joy  and 
pain.  Joy  that  you  still  adhere  to  your  noble  resolve  ;  that 
you  have  found  gladness  in  your  life  ;  that  you  will  work  on 
to  the  end,  whatever  the  fruit  of  the  work  may  be.  But  this 
other  thought  of  yours — that  only  distresses  me  ;  it  clouds 
the  future  with  uncertainty  and  doubt,  where  there  should 
only  be  clear  faith.  My  dear  friend,  I  must  ask  you  to  put 
away  that  thought.  Let  the  feu  sacre  of  the  regenerator,  the 
liberator,  have  full  possession  of  you.  How  I  should  blame 
myself  if  I  were  to  distract  you  from  the  aims  to  which  you 
have  devoted  your  life.  I  have  no  one  to  advise  me  ;  but 
this  I  know  is  right.  You  will,  I  think,  not  misunderstand 
me — you  will  not  think  it  unmaidenly  of  me — if  I  confess  to 
you  that  I  have  written  these  words  with  some  pain,  some 
touch  of  regret  that  all  is  nc*  possible  to  you  that  you  may 
desire.  But  for  one  soul  on  :  devotion.  Do  I  express  myself 
clearly  ? — you  know  Englisl  s  not  my  native  tongue.  If  we 
may  not  go  through  life  toge  her,  in  the  sense  that  you  mean, 
we  need  not  be  far  apart ;  and  you  will  know,  as  you  go  for- 


124 

ward  in  the  path  of  a  noble  duty,  that  there  is  not  any  one 
who  regards  you  and  the  work  you  will  do  with  a  greater 
pride  and  affection  than  your  friend,  NATALIE." 

What  could  it  all  mean  ?  he  asked  himself.  This  was  not 
the  letter  of  a  woman  who  loved  another  man ;  she  would 
have  been  more  explicit;  she  would  have  given  sufficient 
reason  for  her  refusal.  He  read  again,  with  a  beating  heart, 
with  a  wild  hope,  that  veiled  and  subtle  expression  of  regret. 
Was  it  not  that  she  was  prepared  to  sacrifice  forever  those 
dreams  of  a  secure  and  happy  and  loving  life,  that  come 
naturally  to  a  young  girl,  lest  they  should  interfere  with  what 
she  regarded  as  the  higher  duty,  the  more  imperative  devo- 
tion ?  In  that  case,  it  was  for  a  firmer  nature  than  her  own 
to  take  this  matter  in  hand.  She  was  but  a  child  ;  knowing 
nothing  of  the  sorrows  of  the  world,  of  the  necessity  of  pro- 
tection, of  the  chances  the  years  might  bring.  Scarcely  con- 
scious of  what  he  did — so  eagerly  was  his  mind  engaged — 
he  opened  a  drawer  and  locked  the  letter  in.  Then  he  went 
hastily  into  the  other  room. 

"  Evelyn,"  said  he,  "  will  you  take  my  place,  like  a  good 
fellow  ?  I  shall  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can.  Waters  will  get 
you  everything  you  want." 

"  But  about  Wolverhampton,  Mr.  Brand  ?  "  shouted  Hum- 
phreys after  him. 

There  was  no  answer  ;  he  was  half-way  down  the  stairs. 

When  the  hansom  arrived  in  Curzon  Street  a  hurried 
glance  showed  him  that  the  dining-room  was  lit  up.  She  was 
at  home,  then :  that  was  enough.  For  the  rest,  he  was  not 
going  to  trouble  himself  with  formalities  when  so  beautiful  a 
prize  might  still  be  within  his  reach. 

He  knocked  at  the  door ;  the  little  Anneli  appeared. 

"  Anneli,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  see  Miss  Lind  for  a  moment 
— say  I  shall  not  detain  her,  if  there  is  any  one  with  her — " 

"  They  are  in  the  dining-room,  sir ;  Madame  Potecki,  and 
a  strange  gentleman — " 

"  Ask  your  mistress  to  let  me  see  her  for  one  moment ; 
don't  you  understand  ?  " 

"  They  are  just  finishing  dinner,  sir  :  if  you  will  step  up  to 
the  drawing-room  they  will  be  there  in  a  minute  or  two." 

But  at  last  he  got  the  little  German  maid  to  understand 
that  he  wished  to  see  Miss  Lind  alone  for  the  briefest  possi- 
ble time  ;  and  that  she  was  to  carry  this  message  in  an  un- 
dertone to  her  mistress.  By  himself  he  made  his  way  up- 
stairs to  the  drawing-room  :  the  lamps  were  lit. 


HER  ANSW&K.  125 

Me  lifted  books,  photographs,  and  what  not,  with  trembling 
ringers,  and  put  them  down  again  without  knowing  ii.  lie 
was  thinking,  not  looking.  And  he  was  trying  to  force  him- 
self into  a  masterful  mood.  She  was  only  a  child,  he  kept 
repeating  to  himself — only  a  child,  who  wanted  guidance,  in- 
struction, a  protecting  hand.  It  was  not  her  fancies,  how- 
ever generous  and  noble,  that  should  shape  the  destinies  of 
two  lives.  A  beautiful  child,  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its 
evil  :  full  of  dreams  of  impossible  and  unnecessary  self- 
sacrifice,  she  was  not  one  to  ordain ;  surely  her  way  in  life 
was  to  be  led,  and  cherished,  and  loved,  trusting  to  the 
stronger  hand  for  guidance  and  safety. 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  outside,  and  presently  Natalie 
entered  the  room.  She  was  pale — perhaps  she  looked  all 
the  paler  that  she  wore  the  long,  sweeping  black  dress  she 
had  worn  at  Lady  Evelyn's.  In  silence  she  gave  him  her 
hand  ;  he  took  it  in  both  his. 

"  Natalie  ! " 

It  was  a  cry  of  entreaty,  almost  of  pain  ;  for  this  fond 
vision  of  his  of  her  being  only  a  child,  to  be  mastered  and 
guided,  had  fled  the  moment  he  caught  sight  of  this  tall  and 
beautiful  woman,  whose  self-command,  despite  that  paleness 
and  a  certain  apprehension  in  the  dark  eyes,  was  far  greater 
than  his  own. 

"  Natalie,  you  must  give  me  a  clearer  answer." 

He  tried  to  read  the  answer  in  her  eyes  ;  but  she  lowered 
them  as  she  spoke. 

"  Was  not  my  answer  clear?  "  she  said,  gently.  "  I  wished 
not  to  give  you  pain." 

"  But  was  all  your  answer  there  ? "  he  said  quickly. 
"  Were  there  no  other  reasons  ?  Natalie  !  don't  you  know 
that,  if  you  regretted  your  decision  ever  so  little — if  you 
thought  twice  about  it — if  even  now  you  can  give  me  leave  to 
hope  that  one  day  you  will  be  my  wife — there  were  no 
reasons  at  all  in  your  letter  for  your  refusing — none  at  all  ? 
If  you  love  me  even  so  little  that  you  regret — " 

"  I  must  not  listen  to  you,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  No,  no. 
My  answer  was  best  for  us  both.  I  am  sorry  if  it  pains  you  ; 
but  you  have  other  things  to  think  of ;  we  have  our  separate 
duties  in  the  world — duties  that  are  of  first  importance.  My 
dear  friend,"  she  continued,  with  an  air  of  appeal,  "  don't 
you  see  how  I  am  situated  ?  I  have  no  one  to  advise  me — 
not  even  my  father,  though  I  can  guess  what  he  would  say. 
I  know  what  he  would  say ;  and  my  heart  tells  me  that  I 
have  done  right." 


126  SUNRISE. 

"  One  word,"  said  he.  "  This  you  must  answer  me  frankly. 
Is  there  no  other  reason  for  your  refusal  ?  Is  your  heart  free 
to  choose  ?  " 

She  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  for  a  moment :  only  for  a 
moment. 

"  I  understand  you,"  she  said,  with  some  slight  color 
mounting  to  the  pale  clear  olive  of  her  brow.  "  No,  there  is 
not  any  reason  like  that." 

A  quick,  proud  light  leaped  into  his  eyes. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  refuse  to  accept  your  refusal.  Natalie, 
you  will  be  my  wife  !  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  that — do  not  think  of  it.  I  have  done 
wrong  even  to  listen,  to  let  you  speak — " 

"  But  what  I  say  is  true.  I  claim  you,  as  surely  as  I  now 
hold  your  hand — " 

"  Hush  ! " 

There  were  two  people  coming  into  the  room  ;  he  did  not 
care  if  there  were  a  regiment.  He  relinquished  her  hand,  it 
is  true  ;  but  there  was  a  proucl  and  grateful  look  on  his  face ; 
he  did  not  even  turn  to  regard  the  new-comers. 

These  were  Madame  Potecki  and  Calabressa.  The  little 
Polish  lady  had  misconstrued  Natalie's  parting  words  to 
mean  that  some  visitors  had  arrived,  and  that  she  and  Cala- 
bressa were  to  follow  when  they  pleased.  Now  that  they 
had  appeared  in  the  drawing-room,  they  could  not  fail  to  per- 
ceive how  matters  stood,  and,  in  fact,  the  little  gentlewoman 
was  on  the  point  of  retiring.  But  Natalie  was  quite  mistress 
of  the  situation.  She  reminded  Madame  Potecki  that  she 
had  met  Mr.  Brand  before.  She  introduced  Calabressa  to 
the  stranger,  saying  that  he  was  a  friend  of  her  father's. 

"  It  is  opportune — it  is  a  felicitous  circumstance,"  said 
Calabressa,  in  his  nasal  French.  "  Mademoiselle,  behold 
the  truth.  If  I  do  not  have  a  cigarette  after  my  food,  I  die 
— veritably  I  die  !  Now  your  friend,  the  friend  of  the  house, 
surely  he  will  take  compassion  on  me  ;  and  we  will  have  a 
cigarette  together  in  some  apartment." 

Here  he  touched  Brand's  elbow,  having  sidled  up  to  him. 
On  any  other  occasion  Brand  would  have  resented  the  touch, 
the  invitation,  the  mere  presence  of  this  theatrical-looking 
albino.  But  he  was  not  in  a  captious  mood.  How  could  he 
refuse  when  he  heard  Natalie  say,  in  her  soft,  low  voice, 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind,  Mr.  Brand  ?  Anneli  will  light  up 
papa's  little  smoking-room." 

Directly  afterward  he  found  himself  in  the  small  study, 
alone  with  this  odd-looking  person,  whom  he  easily  recog- 


HER  ANSWER. 


127 


nized  as  the  stranger  who  had  been  walking  in  the  Park  with 
Natalie  in  the  morning.  Closer  inspection  rendered  him  less 
afraid  of  this  rival. 

Calabressa  rolled  a  cigarette  between  his  ringers,  and  lit  it. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  monsieur.  I  ask  your  pardon  before- 
hand. I  am  about  to  be  impertinent;  it  is  necessary.  If 
you  will  tell  me  some  things,  I  will  tell  you  some  things  which 
it  may  be  better  for  you  to  know.  First,  then,  I  assume  that 
you  wish  to  marry  that  dear  child,  that  beautiful  young  lady 
up-stairs." 

"  My  good  friend,  you  are  a  little  bit  too  outrageous,"  said 
Brand. 

"  Ah  !  Then  I  must  begin.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  the 
mother  of  this  young  lady  is  alive  ? " 

"  Alive ! " 

"  I  perceive  you  do  not  know,"  said  Calabressa,  coolly. 
"  I  thought  you  would  know — I  thought  you  woukl  guess. 
A  child  might  guess.  She  told  me  you  had  seen  the  locket 
— Natalie  to  Natalushka — was  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"  If  Miss  Lind  herself  did  not  guess  that  her  mother  was 
alive,  how  should  I  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  been  brought  up  for  sixteen  or  eighteen  years 
to  mourn  one  as  dead,  you  do  not  quickly  imagine  that  he  or 
she  is  not  dead  :  you  perceive  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is  extraordinary  enough,"  said  Brand,  thought- 
fully. "With  such  a  daughter,  if  she  has  the  heart  of  a 
mother  at  all,  how  could  she  remain  away  from  her  for  six- 
teen years  ? " 

A  thought  struck  him,  and  his  forehead  colored  quickly. 

"  There  was  no  disgrace  ?  " 

At  this  word  Calabressa  started,  and  the  small  eyes  flashed 
fire. 

"  I  tell  you,  monsieur,  that  it  is  not  in  my  presence  that 
any  one  must  mention  the  word  disgrace  and  also  the  name  of 
Natalie  Berezolyi.  No  ;  I  will  answer — I  myself — I  will  an- 
swer for  the  good  name  of  Natalie  Berezolyi,  by  the  bounty 
of  Heaven ! " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  are  ignorant — you  made  a  mistake.  And  I — well, 
you  perceive,  monsieur,  that  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess — 
I  loved  her ;  she  was  the  radiant  light,  the  star  of  my  life  ! " 

"  La  lumiere  rayonnante,  Fetoile  de  ma  vie  !  " — the  phrases 
sounded  ridiculous  enough  when  uttered  by  this  histrionic 
person ;  but  even  his  self-conscious  gesticulation  did  not  of- 


1 28  SUNRISE. 

fend  Brand.  This  man,  at  all  events,  had  loved  the  mother 
of  Natalie. 

"  Then  it  was  some  very  powerful  motive  that  kept  mother 
and  daughter  apart  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes ;  I  cannot  explain  it  all  to  you,  if  I  quite  know  it  all. 
But  every  year  the  mother  comes  with  a  birthday  present  of 
flowers  for  the  child,  and  watches  to  see  her  once  or  twice ; 
and  then  away  back  she  goes  to  the  retreat  of  her  father. 
Ah,  the  devotion  of  that  beautiful  saint !  If  there  is  a  heaven 
at  all,  Natalie  Berezolyi  will  be  among  the  angels." 

"  Then  you  have  come  to  tell  Natalie  that  her  mother  is 
alive.  I  envy  you.  How  grateful  the  girl  will  be  to  you  !  " 

"  I  ?  What,  I  ?  No,  truly,  I  dare  not.  And  that  is  why 
I  wish  to  speak  to  you":  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  guess, 
or  find  out :  then  I  say,  do  not  utter  a  word  !  Why  do  1  give 
you  this  secret  ?  Why  have  I  sought  to  speak  with  you,  mon- 
sieur? "Well,  if  you  will  not  speak,  I  will.  Something  the 
little  Natalushka  said — to  me  she  must  always  be  the  little 
Natalushka  in  name,  though  she  is  so  handsome  a  woman 
now — something  she  said  to  me  revealed  a  little  secret. 
Then  I  said,  *  Perhaps  Natalushka  will  have  a  happier  life 
than  Natalie  has  had,  only  her  husband  must  be  discreet.' 
Now,  monsieur,  listen  to  me.  What  I  said  to  Natalushka  I 
say  to  you :  do  not  thwart  her  father's  wishes.  He  is  a  de- 
termined man,  and  angry  when  he  is  opposed." 

"  My  good  sir,  other  people  may  have  an  ounce  or  two  of 
determination  also.  You  mean  that  I  must  never  let  Natalie 
know  that  her  mother  is  alive,  for  fear  of  Lind?  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ?  Come,  then  !  " 

He  strode  to  the  door,  and  had  his  hand  on  the  handle, 
when  Calabressa  jumped  up  and  caught  him,  and  interposed. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake — for  Heaven's  sake,  monsieur,  why 
be  so  inconsiderate,  so  rash  ?  " 

"  Has  the  dread  of  this  man  frightened  you  out  of  vour 
wits  ? " 

"  He  is  invulnerable — and  implacable,"  said  Calabressa. 
"  But  he  is  a  good  friend  when  he  has  his  own  way.  Why 
not  be  friends  ?  You  will  have  to  ask  him  for  his  daughter. 
Consider,  monsieur,  that  is  something." 

"Well,  there  is  reason  in  that,"  Brand  said,  reflectively. 
"  And  I  am  inclined  to  be  friendly  with  every  one  to-night, 
Signer  Calabressa.  It  may  be  that  Lind  has  his  reasons  ; 
and  he  is  the  natural  guardian  of  his  daughter — at  present. 
But  she  might  have  another  guardian,  Signor  Calabressa  ?  " 


A  T  THE  CUL  TUR  VEREIN.  \  29 

"  The  wicked  one  ! — she  has  promised  herself  to  you  ? 
And  she  told  me  she  had  no  sweethearts,  the  rogue  !  " 

"  No,  she  has  riot  promised.  But  what  may  not  one  dare 
to  hope  for,  when  one  sees  her  so  generous  and  kind  ?  She 
is  like  her  mother,  is  she  not  ?  Now  1  am  going  to  slip  away, 
Signer  Calabressa ;  when  you  have  had  another  cigarette, 
will  you  go  up-stairs  and  explain  to  the  two  ladies  that  I  have 
three  friends  who  are  now  dining  at  my  house,  and  I  must 
get  back  to  them  ?  " 

Calabressa  rose,  and  took  the  taller  man's  hand  in  his. 

"  I  think  our  little  Natalushka  is  right  in  trusting  herself 
to  you  ;  I  think  you  will  be  kind  to  her  ;  I  know  you  will  be 
brave  enough  to  protect  her.  All  very  well.  But  you  English 
are  so  headstrong.  Why  not  a  little  caution,  a  little  prudence, 
to  smooth  the  way  through  life  ? " 

Brand  laughed:  but  he  had  taken  a  liking  to  this  odd- 
looking  man. 

"  Now,  good-night,  Signer  Calabressa.  You  have  done  me 
a  great  service.  And  if  Natalie's  mother  wishes  to  see  her 
daughter — well,  I  think  the  opportunity  will  come.  In  the 
mean  time,  I  will  be  quite  cautious  and  prudent,  and  com- 
promise nobody;  even  if, I  cannot  wholly  promise  to  tremble 
at  the  name  of  the  Invulnerable  and  the  Implacable." 

"  Ah,  monsieur,"  said  Calabressa,  with  a  sigh,  his  gay  ges- 
ticulation having  quite  left  him,  "  I  hope  I  have  done  no  mis- 
chief. It  was  all  for  the  little  Natalushka.  It  will  be  so 
much  better  for  you  and  for  her  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
Ferdinand  Lind." 

"  We  will  see,"  Brand  said,  lightly.  "  The  people  in  this 
part  of  the  world  generally  do  as  they're  done  by." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AT   THE   CULTURVEREIN. 

ON  calm  reflection,  Calabressa  gave  himself  the  benefit  of 
his  own  approval ;  and,  on  the  whole,  was  rather  proud  of  his 
diplomacy.  He  had  revealed  enough,  and  not  too  much  ;  he 
had  given  the  headstrong  Englishman  prudent  warnings  and 
judicious  counsel ;  he  had  done  what  he  could  for  the  future 
of  the  little  Natalushka,  who  was  the  daughter  of  Natalie 
Berezolyi.  But  there  was  something  more. 

He  went  up-stairs. 


130  SUNRISE. 

"  My  dear  little  one,"  he  said,  in  his  queer  French,  "  be- 
hold me — I  come  alone.  Your  English  friend  sends  a  thou- 
sand apologies — he  has  to  return  to  his  guests  :  is  it  an  Eng- 
lish custom  to  leave  guests  in  such  a  manner  ?  Ah,  Madame 
Potecki,  there  is  a  time  in  one's  life  when  one  does  strange 
things,  is  there  not  ?  When  a  farewell  before  strangers  is 
hateful — impossible  ;  when  you  rather  go  away  silently  than 
come  before  strangers  and  shake  hands,  and  all  the  rest. 
What,  wicked  little  one,  you  look  alarmed !  Is  it  a  secret, 
then  ?  Does  not  madame  guess  anything  ?  " 

"  I  entreat  you,  Signor  Calabressa,  not  to  speak  in  riddles," 
said  Natalie,  hastily.  "  See,  here  is  a  telegram  from  papa. 
He  will  be  back  in  London  on  Monday  next  week.  You 
can  stay  to  see  him,  can  you  not  ? '.' 

"  Mademoiselle,  do  you  not  understand  that  I  am  not  my 
own  master  for  two  moments  in  succession  ?  For  this  pres- 
ent moment  I  am  ;  the  next  I  may  be  under  orders.  But  if 
my  freedom,  my  holiday,  lasts — yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
your  father,  and  I  will  wait.  In  the  mean  time,  I  must  use 
up  my  present  moment.  Can  you  give  me  the  address  of 
Vincent  Beratinsky  ? " 

She  wrote  it  down  for  him  ;  it  was  a  number  in  Oxford 
Street. 

"  Now  I  will  add  my  excuses  to  those  of  the  tall  English- 
man," said  he,  rising.  "  Good-night,  madame.  Good-night, 
mademoiselle — truly,  it  is  a  folly  to  call  you  the  little  Nata- 
lushka,  who  are  taller  than  your  beautiful  mother.  But  it  was 
the  little  Natalushka  I  was  thinking  about  for  many  a  year. 
Good-night,  wicked  little  one,  with  your  secrets  !  " 

He  kissed  her  hand,  bowed  once  more  to  the  little  Polish 
lady,  and  left. 

When,  after  considerable  difficulty — for  he  was  exceedingly 
near-sighted — he  made  out  the  number  in  Oxford  Street,  he 
found  another  caller  just  leaving.  This  stranger  glanced  at 
him,  and  instantly  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  The  night  is  dark,  brother." 

Calabressa  started  ;  but  the  other  gave  one  or  two  signs 
that  reassured  him. 

"  I  knew  you  were  in  London,  signore,  and  I  recognized 
you ;  we  have  your  photograph  in  Lisle  Street.  My  name  is 
Reitzei — " 

"Ah  ! "  Calabressa  exclaimed,  with  a  new  interest,  as  he 
looked  at  the  pallid-faced  young  man. 

"  And  if  you  wish  to  see  Beratinsky,  I  will  take  you  to  him. 


A  T  THE  CUL  TUR  VEKEIN.  131 

I  find  he  is  at  the  Culturverein  :  I  was  going  there  myself." 
So  Calabressa  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away. 

At  this  time  the  Culturverein  used  to  meet  in  a  large  hall  in 
a  narrow  lane  off  Oxford  Street.  It  was  an  association  of 
persons,  mostly  Germans,  connected  in  some  way  or  other 
with  art,  music,  or  letters — a  merry-hearted,  free-and-easy 
little  band  of  people,  who  met  every  evening  to  laugh  and 
talk  and  joke  and  generally  forget  the  world  and  all  its  cares. 
The  evening  usually  began  with  Bavarian  beer,  sonatas,  and 
comic  lectures ;  then  Rhine  wines  began  to  appear,  and  of 
course  these  brought  with  them  songs  of  Love,  and  friendship, 
and  patriotism  ;  occasionally,  when  the  older  and  wiser  folk 
had  gone,  sweet  champagne  and  a  wild  frolic  prevailed  until 
daylight  came  to  drive  the  revellers  out.  Beratinsky  belonged 
to  the  Verein  by  reason  of  his  having  at  one  time  betaken 
himself  to  water-color  drawing,  in  order  to  keep  himself  alive. 

When  Calabressa  entered  die  large,  long  hall,  the  walls  of 
which  were  plentifully  hung  with  sketches  in  color  and  car- 
toons in  black  and  white,  t\\efertig  ! — los  !  period  had  not  ar- 
rived. On  the  contrary,  the  meeting  was  exceedingly  demure, 
almost  dull ;  for  a  German  music  professor,  seated  at  the 
piano  on  the  platform,  was  playing  one  of  his  own  composi- 
tions, which,  however  beautiful,  was  of  considerable  length ; 
and  his  audience  had  relapsed  into  half-hushed  conversation 
over  their  light  cigars  and  tall  glasses  of  Bairisch. 

Beratinsky  had  to  come  along  to  the  entrance-hall  to  enter 
the  names  of  his  visitors  in  a  book.  He  was  a  little  man, 
somewhat  corpulent,  with  bushy  black  eyebrows,  intensely 
black  eyes,  and  black  closely-cropped  beard.  The  head  was 
rather  handsome  ;  the  figure  not. 

"  Ah,  Calabressa,  you  have  come  alive  again !  "  he  said, 
speaking  in  pretty  fair  Italian.  "  We  heard  you  were  in  Lon- 
don. What  is  it  ?  " 

The  last  phrase  was  uttered  in  a  low  voice,  though  there 
was  no  by-stander.  But  Calabressa,  with  a  lofty  gesture,  re- 
plied, 

"  My  friend,  we  are  not  always  on  commissions.  Some- 
times we  have  a  little  liberty — a  little  money — a  notion  in  our 
head.  And  if  one  cannot  exactly  travel  en  prince,  rtimporte  ! 
we  have  our  little  excursion.  And  if  one  has  one's  sweet- 
heart to  see  ?  Do  you  know,  friend  Beratinsky,  that  I  have 
been  dining  with  Natalie — the  little  Natalushka,  as  she  used 
to  be  called  ?  " 

Beratinsky  glanced  quickly  at  him  with  the  black,  piercing 
eyes. 


132  SUNRISE. 

"  Ah,  the  beautiful  child  !  the  beautiful  child  !  "  Calabressa 
exclaimed,  as  if  he  was  addressing  some  one  not  present. 
"  The  mouth  sweet,  pathetic,  like  that  in  Titian's  Assump- 
tion :  you  have  seen  the  picture  in  the  Venice  Academy  ? 
But  she  is  darker  than  Titian's  Virgin  ;  she  is  of  the  black, 
handsome  Magyar  breed,  like  her  mother.  You  never  saw 
her  mother,  Beratinsky  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  rather  surlily.  "  Come,  sit  down 
and  have  a  cigar." 

"  A  cigarette — a  cigarette  and  a  little  cognac,  if  you  please," 
said  Calabressa,  when  the  three  companions  had  gone  along 
to  the  middle  of  the  hall  and  taken  their  seats.  "  Ah,  it  was 
such  a  surprise  to  me  :  the  sight  of  her  grown  to  be  a  woman, 
and  the  perfect,  beautiful  image  of  her  mother — the  very  voice 
too — I  could  have  thought  it  was  a  dream." 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  talk  of  nothing  but  Lind's  daugh- 
ter ? "  said  Beratinsky,  with  scant  courtesy. 

"  Precisely,"  remarked  Calabressa,  in  absolute  good-humor. 
"  But  before  that  a  word." 

He  glanced  round  this  assemblage  of  foreign-looking  per- 
sons, no  doubt  guessing  at  the  various  nationalities  indicated 
by  physique  and  complexion — Prussian,  Pole,  Rhinelander, 
Swiss,  and  what  not.  If  the  company,  in  English  eyes,  might 
have  looked  Bohemian — that  is  to  say,  unconventional  in 
manner  and  costume — the  Bohemianism,  at  all  events,  was 
of  a  well-to-do,  cheerful,  good-humored  character.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  talking  besides  the  music. 

"These  gentlemen,"  said  Calabressa,  in  a  low  voice,  "are 
they  friends — are  they  with  us  ?  " 

"  Only  one  or  two,"  said  Beratinsky. 

"  You  do  not  come  here  to  proselytize,  then  ? " 

"  One  must  amuse  one's  self  sometimes,"  said  the  little, 
fat,  black-haired  Pole,  somewhat  gruffly. 

"  Then  one  must  take  care  what  one  says  !  " 

"  I  presume  that  is  generally  the  case,  friend  Calabressa." 

But  Calabressa  was  not  offended.  He  was  interested  in 
what  was  going  on. 

"  Par  exemple,"  he  said,  in  his  airy  way,  "  que  vient  faire 
lale  drole?" 

The  music  had  come  to  an  end,  and  the  spectacled  pro- 
fessor had  retired  amidst  a  thunder  of  applause.  His  suc- 
cessor, who  had  attracted  Calabressa's  attention,  was  a 
gentleman  who  had  mounted  on  a  high  easel  an  immense 
portfolio  of  cartoons  roughly  executed  in  crayon  ;  and  as  he 
exhibited  them  one  bv  one,  he  pointed  out  their  character- 


AT  THE  CULTURVEREIN.  133 

istics  with  a  long  stick,  after  the  manner  of  a  showman. 
His  demeanor  was  serious  ;  his  face  was  grave  ;  his  tone  was 
simple  and  business-like.  But  as  he  unfolded  these  rude 
drawings,  Calabressa,  who  understood  but  little  German,  was 
more  and  more  astonished  to  find  the  guttural  laughter 
around  him  increase  and  increase  until  the  whole  place  re- 
sounded with  roars,  while  some  of  the  old  Herren  held  their 
sides  in  pain,  as  the  tears  of  the  gigantic  mirth  streamed 
down  their  cheeks.  Those  who  were  able  hammered  loud 
applause  on  the  table  before  them  ;  others  rolled  in  their 
chairs  ;  many  could  only  lie  back  and  send  their  merriment 
up  to  the  reverberating  roof  in  shrill  shrieks  and  yells. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  is  it  all  about  ? "  said 
Calabressa.  "  Have  the  people  gone  mad  ?  " 

"  Illustrations  of  German  proverbs,"  said  Beratinsky,  who, 
despite  his  surly  manner,  was  himself  forced  to  smile. 

Well,  Calabressa  had  indeed  come  here  to  talk  about 
Lind's  daughter ;  but  it  was  impossible,  amidst  this  wild 
surging  to  and  fro  of  Olympian  laughter.  At  last,  however, 
the  showman  came  to  an  end  of  his  cartoons,  and  solemnly 
made  his  bow,  and  amidst  tumultuous  cheering  resumed  his 
place  among  his  companions. 

There  was  a  pause,  given  over  to  chatter  and  joking,  and 
Calabressa  quickly  embraced  this  opportunity. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  the  little  Natalushka— of  the  beauti- 
ful Natalie,  I  should  say,  perhaps  ? " 

"  Lind's  daughter  does  not  choose  to  have  many  friends," 
said  Beratinsky,  curtly. 

This  was  not  promising ;  and,  indeed,  the  corpulent  little 
Pole  showed  great  disinclination  to  talk  about  the  young  lady 
who  had  so  laid  hold  of  Calabressa's  heart.  But  Calabressa 
was  not  to  be  denied,  when  it  was  the  welfare  of  the  daugh- 
ter of  Natalie  Berezolyi  that  was  concerned. 

"  Yes,  yes,  friend  Beratinsky,  of  course  she  is  very  much 
alone.  It  is  rather  a  sad  thing  for  a  young  girl  to  be  so 
much  alone."  ' 

"  And  if  she  chooses  to  be  alone  ? "  said  Beratinsky,  with 
a  sharpness  that  resembled  the  snarl  of  a  terrier. 

Perhaps  it  was  to  get  rid  of  the  topic  that  Beratinsky  here 
joined  in  a  clamorous  call  for  "  Nageli !  Nageli  !  "  Presently 
a  fresh-colored  young  Switzer,  laughing  and  blushing  tre- 
mendously, went  up  to  the  platform  and  took  his  seat  at  the 
piano,  and  struck  a  few  noisy  chords.  It  was  a  Tyrolese 
song  he  sung,  with  a  jodel  refrain  of  his  own  invention : 


134  SUNRISE. 

"  Hat  einer  ein  Schatzerl, 
So  bleitbt  er  ciabei, 
Er  nimmt  sie  ziim  Weiberl, 
Und  liebt  sie  rccht  trcn. 
Dann  fangt  man  die  Wirthschaft 
Gemeinschaftlich  an, 
Und  leibt  sich,  und  herzt  sich 
So  sehr  als  man  kann  !  " 

Great  cheering  followed  the  skilfully  executed  jodel.  In  the 
midst  of  it,  one  of  the  members  rose  and  said,  in  German, 

;'  Meine  Herren  !  You  know  our  good  friend  Nageli  is  go- 
ing to  leave  us  ;  perhaps  we  shall  not  see  him  again  for 
many  years.  I  challenge  you  to  drink  this  toast :  '  Nageli, 
and  his  quick  return  ! '  I  say  to  him  what  some  of  the  shop- 
keepers in  our  Father-land  say  to  their  customers,  *  Koinmen 
Sie  bald  wieder  ! ' ' 

Here  there  was  a  great  shouting  of  "  Nageli !  Nageli ! " 
until  one  started  the  chorus,  which  was  immediately  and 
sonorously  sung  by  the  whole  assemblage, 

"  Hoch  soil  er  leben  ! 
Hoch  soil  er  leben  ! 
Dreimal  hoch ! " 

Another  pause,  chiefly  devoted  to  the  ordering  of  Hochhei- 
mer  and  the  lighting  of  fresh  cigars.  The  souls  of  the  sons 
of  the  Father-land  were  beginning  to  warm. 

"  Friend  Beratinsky,"  said  the  anxious-hearted  albino, 
"  perhaps  you  know  that  many  years  ago  I  knew  the  mother 
of  Natalie  Lind  ;  she  was  a  neighbor — a  companion — of 
mine  ;  and  I  am  interested  in  the  little  one.  A  young  girl 
sometimes  has  need  of  friends.  Now,  you  are  in  a  position — " 

"  Friend  Calabressa,  you  may  save  your  breath,"  said  the 
other,  coldly.  "  The  young  lady  might  have  had  my  friend- 
ship if  she  had  chosen.  She  did  not  choose.  I  suppose  she 
is  old  enough — and  proud  enough — to  choose  her  own 
friends.  Yes,  yes,  friend  Calabressa,  I  have  heard.  But  we 
will  say  nothing  more  :  now  listen  to  this  comical  fellow." 

Calabressa  was  not  thinking  of  the  young  Englishman  who 
now  sat  down  at  the  piano  ;  a  strange  suspicion  was  begin- 
ning to  fill  his  mind.  Was  it  possible,  he  began  inwardly  to 
ask,  that  Vincent  Beratinsky  had  himself  aspired  to  marry 
the  beautiful  Hungarian  girl  ? 

This  good-looking  young  English  fellow,  with  a  gravity 
.equal  to  that  of  the  sham  showman,  explained  to  his  audi- 
ence that  he  was  composing  an  operetta,  of  which  he  would 


AT  THE  CULTURVEREIN.      .  135 

give  them  a  few  passages.  He  was  a  skilful  pianist.  He 
explained,  as  his  fingers  ran  up  and  down  the  keys,  that  the 
scene  was  in  Ratclifre  Highway.  A  tavern  :  a  hornpipe. 
Jack  ashore.  Unseemly  squabbles  :  here  there  were  harsh 
discords  and  shrill  screams.  Drunkenness  :  the  music  get- 
ting very  helpless.  Then  the  daylight  comes — the  chirping 
of  sparrows — Jack  wanders  out — the  breath  of  the  morning- 
stirs  his  memories — he  thinks  of  other  days.  Then  comes  in 
Jack's  song,  which  neither  Calabressa  nor  any  one  else  pres- 
ent could  say  was  meant  to  be  comic,  or  pathetic,  or  a  de- 
moniac mixture  of  both.  The  accompaniment  which  the 
handsome  young  English  fellow  played  was  at  once  rhythmi- 
cal, and  low  and  sad,  like  the  wash  of  waves : 

"  Oh,  the  days  were  long, 

And  the  summers  were  long, 
When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin' ; 

The  hills  were  blue  beyond  the  sky ; 

The  heather  was  soft  where  we  did  lie  ; 

We  kissed  our  fill,  did  Jane  and  I, 
When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin'. 

"  When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin', 
Oh,  the  days  were  long, 
And  the  summers  were  long ! 
We  walked  by  night  beyond  the  quay ; 
Above,  the  stars ;  below,  the  sea  ; 
And  I  kissed  Jane,  and  Jane  kissed  me, 
When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin'. 

"  But  Jane  she  married  the  sodger-chap  ; 
An  end  to  me  and  my  courtin'. 
And  I  took  ship,  and  here  I  am ; 
And  where  I  go,  I  care  not  a  damn — 
Rio,  Jamaica,  Seringapatam — 
Good-bye  to  Jane  and  the  courtin'." 

This  second  professor  of  gravity  was  abundantly  cheered 
too  when  he  rose  from  the  pfano  ;  for  the  music  was  quaint 
and  original,  with  a  sort  of  unholy,  grotesque  pathos  running 
through  it.  Calabressa  resumed  : 

"  My  good  Beratinskv,  what  is  it  that  you  have  heard  ? 

"  No  matter.  Natalie  Lind  has  no  need  of  your  good 
offices,  Caiabressa.  She  can  make  friends  for  herself,  and 
quicklv  enough,  too." 

Calabressa's  eyes  were  not  keen,  but  his  ears  were  ;  he 
detected  easily  the  personal  rancor  in  the  man  s  tone 

«  You  are  speaking  of  some  one  :  the  Englishman  ? 

Beratinsky  burst  out  laughing. 


136  SUAWISE. 

"  Listen,  Reitzei !  Even  my  good  friend  Calabressa  per- 
ceives. He,  too,  has  encountered  the  Englishman.  Oh  yes, 
we  must  all  give  way  to  him,  else  he  will  stamp  on  our  toes 
with  his  thick  English  boots.  You,  Reitzei :  how  long  is  he 
to  allow  you  to  retain  your  office  ?  " 

"  Better  for  him  if  he  does  not  interfere  with  me,"  said 
the  younger  man.  "  I  was  always  against  the  English  being 
allowed  to  become  officers.  They  are  too  arrogant ;  they 
want  everything  under  their  direction.  Take  their  money, 
but  keep  them  outside  :  that  would  have  been  my  rule." 

"  And  this  Englishman,"  said  Beratinsky,  with  a  smile, 
though  there  was  the  light  of  malice  in  his  eye,  "  this  English- 
man is  not  content  with  wanting  to  have  the  mastery  of  poor 
devils  like  you  and  me  ;  he  also  wishes  to  marry  the  beauti- 
ful Natalie — the  beautiful  Natalie,  who  has  hitherto  been  as 
proud  as  the  Princess  Brunhilda.  Now,  now,  friend  Cala- 
bressa, do  not  protest.  Every  one  has  ears,  has  eyes.  And 
when  papa  Lind  comes  home — when  he  finds  that  this  Eng- 
lishman has  been  making  a  fool  of  him,  and  professing 
great  zeal  when  he  was  only  trying  to  steal  away  the  daughter 
— what  then,  friend  Calabressa  ?  " 

"  A  girl  must  marry,"  said  Calabressa. 

"  I  thought  she  was  too  proud  to  think  of  such  things," 
said  the  other,  scornfully.  "  However,  I  entreat  you  to  say  no 
more.  What  concern  have  I  with  Natalie  Lind  ?  I  tell  you, 
let  her  make  more  new  friends." 

Calabressa  sat  silent,  his  heart  as  heavy  as  lead.  He  had 
come  with  some  notion  that  he  would  secure  one  other — pow- 
erful, and  in  all  of  Lind's  secrets — on  whom  Natalie  could 
rely,  should  any  emergency  occur  in  which  she  needed  help. 
But  these  jealous  and  envious  taunts,  these  malignant  proph- 
ecies, only  too  clearly  showed  him  in  what  relation  Vincent- 
Beratinsky  stood  with  regard  to  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Ber- 
ezolyi  and  the  Englishman,  her  lover. 

Calabressa  sat  silent.  When  some  one  began  to  play  the 
zither,  he  was  thinking  not  of  the  Culturverein  in  London, 
but  of  the  dark  pine  woods  above  the  Erlau,  and  of  the  house 
there,  and  of  Natalie  Berezolyi  as  she  played  in  the  evening. 
He  would  ask  Natalushka  if  she,  too,  played  the  zither. 


FIDELIO.  137 

CHAPTER  XX. 

FIDELIO. 

GEORGE  BRAND  walked  away  from  the  house  in  Curzon 
Street  in  a  sort  of  bewilderment  of  hope  and  happiness  and 
gratitude.  He  would  even  try  to  accept  Calabressa's  well- 
meant  counsel :  why  should  he  not  be  friends  with  everybody  ? 
The  world  had  grown  very  beautiful ;  there  was  to  be  no 
more  quarrelling  in  it,  or  envy,  or  malice. 

In  the  dark  he  almost  ran  against  a  ragged  little  child  who 
was  selling  flowers. 

"  Will  you  buy  a  rose-bud,  sir  ?  "  said  she. 

"  What  ?  "  he  said,  severely,  "  selling  flowers  at  this  time 
of  night  ?  Get  away  home  with  you  and  get  your  supper,  and 
go  to  bed ;  "  but  he  spoiled  the  effect  of  his  sharp  admonition 
by  giving  the  girl  all  the  silver  he  had  in  his  pocket. 

He  found  the  little  dinner-party  in  a  most  loquacious  mood. 
O'Halloran  in  especial  was  in  full  swing.  The  internal, 
economy  of  England  was  to  be  readjusted.  The  capital 
must  be  transferred  to  the  centre  of  the  real  wealth  and 
brain-power  of  the  country — that  is  to  say,  somewhere  about 
Leeds  or  Manchester.  This  proposition  greatly  pleased 
Humphreys,  the  man  from  the  North,  who  was  quite  willing 
to  let  the  Royal  Academy,  the  South  Kensington  and  National 
Galleries,  and  the  British  Museum  remain  in  London,  so  long 
as  the  seat  of  government  was  transferred  to  Huddersfield  or 
thereabouts.  But  O'Halloran  drew  such  a  harrowing  picture 
of  the  effect  produced  on  the  South  of  England  intellect  by 
its  notorious  and  intense  devotion  to  the  arts,  that  Humphreys 
was  almost  convicted  of  cruelty. 

However,  if  these  graceless  people  thought  to  humbug  the 
hard-headed  man  from  the  North,  he  succeeded  on  one  oc- 
casion in  completely  silencing  his  chief  enemy,  O'Halloran. 
That  lover  of  paradox  and  idle,  speculation  was  tracing  the 
decline  of  superstition  to  the  introduction  of  the  use  of  steam, 
and  was  showing  how,  wherever  railways  went  in  India,  ghosts 
disappeared  ;  whereupon  the  Darlington  man  calmly  retorted 
that,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  the  railways  in  this  country  were 
engaged  in  making  as  many  ghosts  as  they  could  possibly 
disperse  in  India.  This  flank  attack  completely  surprised 
and  silenced  the  light  skirmisher,  who  sought  safety  in  light- 
ing another  cigar. 

More  serious  matters,  however,  were  also  talked  about,  and 


138  SUNRISE. 

Humphreys  was  eager  that  Brand  should  go  down  to  Wolver- 
hampton  with  him  next  morning.  Brand  pleaded  but  for  one 
day's  delay.  Humphreys  reminded  him  that  certain  members 
of  the  Political  Committee  of  the  Trades-union  Congress 
would  be  at  Wolverhampton,  and  that  he  had  promised  to 
see  them.  After  that,  silence. 

At  last,  as  Humphreys  and  O'Halloran  were  leaving, 
Brand  said,  with  an  effort, 

"  No,  it  is  no  use,  Humphreys.  I  must  remain  in  London 
one  more  day.  You  go  down  to-morrow ;  I  shall  come  by 
the  first  train  next  morning.  Molyneux  and  the  others  won't 
be  leaving  for  some  days." 

"  Very  well,  sir  ;  good-night,  sir." 

Brand  returned  into  the  room,  and  threw  himself  into  an 
easy-chair  ;  his  only  companion  now  was  his  old  friend  Evelyn. 

The  younger  man  regarded  him. 

"  I  can  tell  the  whole  story,  Brand ;  I  have  been  reading  it 
in  your  face.  You  were  troubled  and  perplexed  before  you 
got  that  letter.  It  gave  some  hope.  Off  you  went  to  see 
Natalie  ;  you  came  back  with  something  in  your  manner  that 
told  me  you  had  seen  her  and  had  been  received  favorably. 
Now  it  is  only  one  more  day  of  happiness  you  hunger  for,  be- 
fore going  up  to  the  hard  work  of  the  North.  Well,  I  don't 
wonder.  But,  at  the  same  time,  you  look  a  little  too  restless 
and  anxious  for  a  man  who  has  just  won  such  a  beautiful 
sweetheart." 

"  I  am  not  so  lucky  as  that,  Evelyn,"  said  he,  absently. 

"  What,  you  did  not  see  her  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  saw  her ;  and  I  hope.  But  of  course  one  craves 
for  some  full  assurance  when  such  a  prize  is  within  reach  ; 
and — and  I  suppose  one's  nerves  are  a  little  excited,  so  that 
you  imagine  possibilities  and  dangers — " 

He  rose,  and  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  It  is  the  old  story,  Evelyn.     I  distrust  Lind." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  As  you  say,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  If  I  had 
Natalie's  full  promise,  I  should  care  for  nothing.  She  is  a 
woman  ;  she  is  not  a  school  girl,  to  be  frightened.  If  I  had 
only  that,  I  should  start  off  for  the  North  with  a  light  heart." 

"  Why  not  secure  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  scarcely  fair  to  force  myself  on  her  at  pres- 
ent until  her  father  returns.  Then  she  will  be  more  her  own 
mistress.  But  the  doubt — I  don't  know  when  I  may  be  back 
from  the  North —  At  last  he  stopped  short.  "  Yes,  I  will 
see  her  to-morrow  at  all  hazards." 


FIDELIO.  139 

Ey-and-by  he  began  to  tell  his  friend  of  the  gay-hearted  old 
albino  he  had  encountered  at  Lind's  house  ;  though  in 
the  mean  time  he  reserved  to  himself  the  secret  of  Natalie's 
mother  being  alive. 

"  Lind  must  have  an  extraordinary  faculty,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  of  inspiring  fear,  and  of  getting  people  to  obey  him." 

"  He  does  not  look  a  ferocious  person,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  have  always  found  him  very  courteous  and 
pleasant — frank,  amiable,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"  And  yet  here  is  this  man  Calabressa,  an  old  friend  of  his  ; 
and  he  talks  of  Lind  with  a  sort  of  mysterious  awe.  He  is 
not  a  man  whom  you  must  think  of  thwarting.  He  is  the  In- 
vulnerable, the  Implacable.  The  fact  is,  I-  was  inclined  to 
laugh  at  my  good  friend  Calabressa ;  but  all  the  same,  it  was 
quite  apparent  that-  the  effect  Lind  had  produced  on  his 
mind  was  real  enough." 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  "  Lind  has  a  great 
organization  to  control,  and  he  must  be  a  strict  disciplinarian. 
It  is  the  object  of  his  life  ;  everything  else  is  of  minor  impor- 
tance. Even  you  confess  that  you  admire  his  tremendous 
power  of  work." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  admire  his  administrative  capacity ;  it  is 
wonderful.  But  I  don't  believe  for  a  moment  that  it  was  his 
mind  that  projected  this  big  scheme.  That  must  have  been 
the  work  of  an  idealist,  perhaps  of  a  dozen  of  them,  all  add- 
ing and  helping.  I  think  he  almost  said  as  much  to  me  one 
night.  His  business  is  to  keep  the  machinery  in  working 
order,  and  he  does  it  to  perfection." 

"  There  is  one  thing  about  him  :  he  never  forgets,  and  he 
never  forgives.  You  remember  the  story  of  Count  Verdt  ?  " 

"  I  have  cause  to  remember  it.  I  thought  for  a  moment 
the  wretch  had  committed  suicide  because  I  caught  him 
cheating." 

"  I  have  been  told  that  Lind  played  with  that  fellow  like  a 
cat  with  a  mouse.  Verdt  got  hints  from  time  to  time  that 
his  punishment  as  a  traitor  was  overtaking  him  ;  and  yet  he 
was  allowed  to  live  on  in  constant  fear.  And  it  was  the 
Camorra,  and  not  Lind,  or  any  of  Lind's  friends,  who  finished 
him  after  all." 

"  Well,  that  was  implacable  enough,  to  be  sure ;  to  have 
death  dogging  the  poor  wretch's  heels,  and  yet  refusing  to 
strike." 

"  For  myself,  I  don't  pity  him  much,"  said  Lord  Evelyn, 
as  he  rose  and  buttoned  his  coat.  "  He  was  a  fool  to  think 
he  could  .play  such  a  trick  and  escape  the  consequences. 


140  SUNRISE. 

Now,  Brand,  how  am  I  to  hear  from  you  to-morrow  ?  You 
know  I  am  in  a  measure  responsible." 

"  However  it  ends,  I  am  grateful  to  you,  Evelyn  ;  you  may 
be  sure  of  that.  I  will  write  to  you  from  Wolverhampton, 
and  let  you  know  the  worst,  or  the  best." 

"  The  best,  then  :  we  will  have  no  worsts." 

He  said  good-bye,  and  went  whistling  cheerfully  down  the 
narrow  oak  staircase.  He  at  least  was  not  very  apprehen- 
sive about  the  results  of  the  next  day's  interview. 

But  how  brief  was  this  one  day,  with  its  rapidly  passing  op- 
portunities ;  and  then  the  stern  necessity  for  departure  and 
absence.  He  spent  half  tine  night  in  devising  how  best  he 
could  get  speech  of  her,  in  a  roundabout  fashion,  without  the 
dread  of  the  interference  of  friends.  And  at  last  he  hit  upon 
a  plan  which  might  not  answer  ;  but  he  could  think  of  noth- 
ing else. 

He  went  in  the  morning  and  secured  a  box  at  Covent  Gar- 
den for  that  evening.  Then  he  called  at  Lisle  Street,  and 
got  Calabressa's  address.  He  found  Calabressa  in  his  lodg- 
ings, shivering  and  miserable,  for  the  day  was  wet,  misty,  and 
cold. 

"  You  can  escape  from  the  gloom  of  our  climate,  Signor 
Calabressa,"  said  he.  "  What  do  you  say  to  going  to  the 
opera  to-night  ?  " 

"  Your  opera  ? "  said  he,  with  a  gesture  indicative  of  still 
deeper  despair.  "  You  forget  I  come  from  the  home,  the 
nursery  of  opera." 

"Yes,"  said  Brand,  good-naturedly.  "Great  singers  train 
in  your  country,  but  they  sing  here :  that  is  the  difference. 
Do  not  be  afraid  ;  you  will  not  be  disappointed.  See,  I  have 
brought  you  a  box ;  and  if  you  want  companions,  why  not 
ask  Miss  Lind  and  Madame  Potecki  to  go  with  you  and  show 
you  the  ways  of  our  English  opera-houses  ?  " 

"  Ah,  the  little  Natalushka  !  "  said  Calabressa,  eagerly. 
"  Will  she  go  ?  Do  you  think  she  will  go  ?  Mafoi,  it  is  not 
often  I  have  the  chance  of  taking  such  a  beautiful  creature 
to  the  opera,  if  she  will  go  !  What  must  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  will  have  to  go  and  beg  her  to  be  kind  to  you.  Say 
you  have  the  box — you  need  not  mention  how  :  ask  if  she 
will  escort  you,  she  and  Madame  Potecki.  Say  it  is  a  kind- 
ness :  she  cannot  help  doing  a  kindness." 

"  There  you  are  right,  monsieur  :  do  not  I  see  it  in  her  eyes  ? 
can  I  not  hear  it  in  her  voice  ? " 

"  Well,  that  you  must  do  at  once,  before"  she  goes  out  for 
her  walk  at  noon." 


FIDELIO.  141 

"  To  go  out  walking  on  a  day  like  this  ?  " 

"  She  will  go  out,  nevertheless ;  and  you  must  go  and  in- 
tercept her,  and  pray  her  to  do  you  this  kindness." 

"  Apres  ?  " 

"  You  must  come  to  me  again,  and  we  will  get  an  English 
evening  costume  for  you  somehow.  Then,  two  bouquets;  I 
will  get  those  for  you,  and  send  them  to  them  to  the  box  £o 
await  you." 

"But  you  yourself,  monsieur;  will  vou  not  be  of  the 
party  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  say  nothing  about  me,  signore ; 
for  one  is  so  busy  nowadays.  But  if  I  come  into  the  stalls  ; 
if  I  see  you  and  the  ladies  in  the  box,  then  I  shall  permit 
myself  to  call  upon  you  ;  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Parfaitement,"  said  Calabressa,  gravely.  Then  he  laughed 
slightly.  "Ah,  monsieur,  you  English  are  not  good  diploma- 
tists. I  perceive  that  you  wish  to  say  more  ;  that  you  are 
afraid  to  say  more  ;  that  you  are  anxious  and  a  little  bit  de- 
mure, like  a  girl.  What  you  wish  is  this,  is  it  not :  if  I  say 
to  Madame  Potecki,  'Madame,  I  am  a  stranger;  will  you 
show  me  the  promenade,  that  I  may  behold  the  costumes  of 
the  beautiful  English  ladies  ? '  madame  answers,  *  Willingly.' 
We  go  to  see  the  costumes  of  the  beautiful  English  ladies. 
Why  should  you  come  ?  You  would  not  leave  the  young  lady 
all  alone  in  the  box  ?  " 

"  Calabressa,"  he  said,  frankly,  "  I  am  going  away  to-mor- 
row morning  :  do  you  understand  that  ?  " 

Calabressa  bowed  gravely. 

"  To  comprehend  that  is  easy.  Allons,  let  us  play  out  the 
little  plot  for  the  amusement  of  that  rogue  of  a  Natalushka. 
And  if  she  does  not  thank  me — eh  bien  !  perhaps  her  papa 
will  :  who  knows  ?  " 

Before  the  overture  began  that  evening,  Brand  was  in  his 
seat  in  the  stalls  ;  and  he  had  scarcely  sat  down  when  he 
knew,  rather  than  saw,  that  certain  figures  were  coming  into 
the  box  which  he  had  been  covertly  watching.  The  opera 
was  Fidelia — that  beautiful  story  of  a  wife's  devotion  and 
courage,  and  reward.  As  he  sat  and  listened,  he  knew  she 
was  listening  too  ;  and  he  could  almost  have  believed  it  was 
her  own  voice  that  was  pleading  so  eloquentlv  with  the  jailer 
to  let  the  poor  prisoner  see  the  light  of  day  for  a  few  minutes 
in  the  garden.  Would  not  that  have  been  her  prayer,  too,  in 
similar  circumstances  ?  Then  Leonora,  disguised  as  a  youth, 
is  forced  to  assist  in  the  digging  of  her  own  husband's  grave. 
Pizarro  enters  ;  the  unhappy  prisoners  are  driven  back  to  their 


142  SUNRISE. 

cells  and  chains,  and  Leonora  can  only  call  down  the  venge- 
ance of  Heaven  on  the  head  of  the  tyrant. 

At  the  end  of  the  act  Brand  went  up  to  the  box  and  tapped 
outside.  It  was  opened  from  within,  and  he  entered.  Natalie 
turned  to  receive  him ;  she  was  a  little  pale,  he  thought ;  he 
took  a  seat  immediately  behind  her  ;  and  there  was  some  gen- 
eral talk  until  the  opening  of  the  second  act  restored  silence. 

For  him  it  was  a  strange  silence,  that  the  music  outside 
did  not  disturb.  Sitting  behind  her,  he  could  study  the  beau- 
tiful profile  and  the  outward  curve  of  her  dark  eyelashes  ;  he 
could  see  where  here  and  there  a  delicate  curl  of  the  raven- 
black  hair,  escaping  from  the  mob-cap  of  rose-red  silk,  lay 
about  the  small  ear  or  wandered  down  to  the  shapely  white 
neck ;  he  could  almost,  despite  the  music,  fancy  he  heard  her 
breathe,  as  the  black  gossamer  and  scarlet  flowers  of  an  In- 
dian shawl  stirred  over  the  shining  satin  dress.  Her  fan  and 
handkerchief  were  perfumed  with  white-rose. 

And  to-morrow  he  would  be  in  Wolverhampton,  amidst 
grimy  streets  and  dirty  houses,  in  a  leaden-hued  atmosphere 
laden  with  damp  and  the  fumes  of  chimneys,  practically  alone, 
with  days  of  monotonous  work  before  him,  and  solitary  even- 
ings to  be  spent  in  cheerless  inns.  What  wonder  if  this 
seemed  some  brief  vision  of  paradise — the  golden  light  and 
glowing  color,  the  soft  strains  of  music,  the  scent  of  white- 
rose  ? 

Doubtless  Natalie  had  seen  this  opera  of  Fidelio  many  a 
rime  before  ;  but  she  was  always  intently  interested  in  music  ; 
and  she  had  more  than  once  expressed  in  Brand's  hearing 
her  opinion  of  the  conduct  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
make  an  opera,  or  a  concert,  or  a  play  a  mere  adjunct  to  their 
own  foolish  laughter  and  tittle-tattle.  She  recognized  the 
serious  aims  of  a  great  artist ;  she  listened  with  deep  atten- 
tion and  respect ;  she  could  talk  idly  elsewhere  and  at  other 
times.  And  so  there  was  scarcely  a  word  said — except  of  in- 
voluntary admiration — as  the  opera  proceeded.  But  in  the 
scene  where  the  disguised  wife  discovers  her  husband  in  the 
prison — where,  as  Pizarro  is  about  to  stab  him,  she  flings  her- 
self between  them  to  protect  him — Brand  could  see  that  Nat- 
alie Lind  was  fast  losing  her  manner  of  calm  and  critical  at- 
tention, and  yielding  to  a  profounder  emotion.  When  Le- 
onora reveals  herself  to  her  husband,  and  swears  that  she  will 
save  him,  even  such  a  juncture,  from  his  vindictive  enemy — 

"  Si,  si,  mio  dolce  amico, 
La  tua  Eleonora  ti  salvera; 
Affronto  il  suo  furor  !  " 


FIDE  LIC.  143 

the  girl  gave  a  slight  convulsive  sob,  and  hef  hands  were  in- 
voluntarily clasped.  Then,  as  every  one  knows,  Leonora 
draws  a  pistol  from  her  bosom  and  confronts  the  tyrant ;  a 
trumpet  is  heard  in  the  distance  ;  relief  is  near ;  and  the  act 
winds  up  with  the  joyful  duet  between  the  released  husband 
and  the  courageous  wife — "  Destin,  destin  ormaifelice  !  " 

Here  it  was  that  Calabressa  proposed  he  should  escort 
Madame  Potecki  to  the  cooler  air  of  the  large  saloon  ;  and 
madame,  who  had  been  young  herself,  and  guessed  that  the 
lovers  might  like  to  be  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  instantly  and 
graciously  acquiesced.  But  Natalie  rose  also,  a  little  quickly, 
and  said  that  Madame  Potecki  and  herself  would  be  glad  to 
have  some  coffee ;  and  could  that  be  got  in  the  saloon  ? 

Madame  Potecki  and  her  companion  led  the  way ;  but 
then  Brand  put  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  Natalie  and  detained 
her. 

"  Natalie  !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  and  hurried  voice,  "I  am  go- 
ing away  to-morrow.  I  don't  know  when  I  sfeall  see  you 
again.  Surely  you  will  give  me  some  assurance — some  prom- 
ise j  something  I  can  repeat  to  myseHv"^$atalie,  I  know  the 
value  of  what  I  am  asking ;  you  will-give  yourself  to  me  ?  " 

She  stood  by  the  half-shut  door,  pale,  irresolute,  and  yet 
outwardly  calm.  Her  eyes  were  cast  down  ;  she  held  her 
fan  firmly  with  both  hands. 

"  Natalie,  are  you  afraid  to  answer  ?  " 

Then  the  young  Hungarian  girl  raised  her  eyes,  and 
bravely  regarded  him,  though  her  face  was  still  pale  and  ap- 
prehensive. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  how  can  I  answer 
you  more  than  this — that  if  I  am  not  to  give  myself  to  you  I 
will  give  myself  to  no  other  ?  I  will  be  your  wife,  or  the  wife 
of  no  one.  Dear  friend,  I  can' say  no  more." 

"  It  is  enough." 

She  went  quickly  to  the  front  of  the  box  ;  in  both  bouquets 
there  were  forget-me-nots.  She  hurriedly  selected  some,  and 
returned  and  gave  them  to  him. 

"  Whatever  happens,  you  will  remember  that  there  was  one 
who  at  least  wished  to  be  worthy  of  your  love." 

Then  they  followed  their  friends  into  the  saloon,  and  sat 
down  at  a  small  table,  though  Natalie's  hands  were  trembling 
so  that  she  could  scarcely  undo  her  gloves.  And  George 
Brand  said  nothing ;  but  once  or  twice  he  looked  into  his 
wife's  eyes. 


144  SUNRISE. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.     ^ 

WHEN  Ferdinand  Lind  told  Calabress'a  that  Natalie  had 
grown  to  be  a  woman,  he  no  doubt  meant  what  he  said ;  but 
he  himself  had  not  the  least  notion  what  the  phrase  implied. 
He  could  see,  of  course,  that  she  had  now  a  woman's  years, 
stature,  self-possession  ;  but,  for  all  that,  she  was  still  to  him 
only  a  child — only  the  dark-eyed,  gentle,  obedient  little  Nata- 
lushka,  who  used  to  be  so  proud  when  she  was  praised  for 
her  music,  and  whose  only  show  of  resolution  was  when  she 
set  to  work  on  the  grammar  of  a  new  language.  Indeed,  it  is 
the  commonest  thing  in  the  world  for  a  son,  or  a  daughter,  or 
a  friend  to  grow  in  years  without  those  nearest  them  being 
aware  of  the  fact,  until  some  chance  circumstance,  some  cri- 
sis, causes  a  revelation,  and  we  are  astounded  at  the  change 
that  time  has  insidiously  made. 

Such  a  discovery  was  now  about  to  confront  Ferdinand 
Lind.  He  was  to  learn  not  only  that  his  daughter  had  left 
the  days  of  her  childhood  behind  her,  but  also  that  the  woman- 
hood to  which  she  had  attained  was  of  a  fine  and  firm  charac- 
ter, a  womanhood  that  rung  true  when  tried.  And  this  is 
how  the  discovery  was  forced  on  him  : 

On  his  arrival  in  London,  Mr.  Lind  drove  first  to  Lisle  Street, 
to  pick  up  letters  on  his  way  home.  Beratinsky  had  little 
news  about  business  matters  to  impart ;  but,  instead,  he  began 
— as  Lind  was  looking  at  some  of  the  envelopes — to  drop 
hints  about  Brand.  It  was  easy  to  see  now,  he  said,  why  the 
rich  Englishman  was  so  eager  to  join  them,  and  give  up  his 
life  in  that  way.  It  was  not  for  nothing.  Mr.  Lind  would 
doubtless  hear  more  at  home  ;  and  so  forth. 

Mr.  Lind  was  thinking  of  other  things ;  but  when  he  came 
to  understand  what  these  innuendoes  meant,  he  was  neither 
angry  nor  impatient.  He  had  much  toleration  for  human 
weakness,  and  he  took  it  that  Beratinsky  was  only  a  little  off 
his  head  with  jealousy.  He  was  aware  that  it  had  been 
Beratinsky's  ambition  to  become  his  son-in-law :  a  project 
that  swiftly  came  to  an  end  through  the  perfect  unanimity  of 
father  and  daughter  on  that  point. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Beratinsky,"  he  said,  as  he  tied  the  bundle 
of  letters  together.  "  At  your  time  of  life  you  should  not 
imagine  that  every  one's  head  is  full  of  philandering  nonsense. 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER.  145 

Mr.  Brand  has  something  else  to  think  of ;  besides,  he  has 
been  in  the  midland  counties  all  this  time." 

"  Has  he  ?  Who,  then,  was  taking  your  daughter  to  dinner- 
parties, to  theatres — I  don't  know  what  ?  " 

Lind  dealt  gently  with  this  madness. 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  I  have  eyes  and  ears." 

"  Put  them  to  a  better  use,  Beratinsky." 

Then  he  left,  and  the  hansom  carried  him  along  to  Curzon 
Street.  Natalie  herself  flew  to  the  door  when  she  heard  the 
cab  drive  up :  there  she  was  to  receive  him,  smiling  a  wel- 
come, and  so  like  her  mother  that  he  was  almost  startled. 
She  caught  his  face  in  her  two  hands  and  kissed  him. 

"  Ah,  why  did  you  not  let  me  come  to  meet  you  at  Liver- 
pool ? " 

"  There  were  to  many  with  me,  Natalie.  I  was  busy.  Now 
get  Anneli  to  open  my  portmanteau,  and  you  can  find  out  for 
yourself  all  the  things  I  have  brought  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  them,  papa ;  I  like  to  have  you  yourself 
back." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  rather  dull,  Natalushka,  being  all  by 
yourself  ? " 

"  Sometimes.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  that  has  happened 
when  you  are  having  breakfast." 

"  I  have  had  breakfast,  child.  Now  I  shall  get  through  my 
letters,  and  you  can  tell  me  all  that  has  happened  afterward." 

This  was  equivalent  to  a  dismissal ;  so  Natalie  went  up- 
stairs, leaving  her  father  to  go  into  the  small  study,  where  lay 
another  bundle  of  letters  for  him. 

Almost  the  first  that  he  opened  was  from  George  Brand ; 
and  to  his  amazement  he  found,  not  details  about  progress  in 
the  North,  but  a  simple,  straightforward,  respectful  demand  to 
be  permitted  to  claim  the  hand  of  Natalie  in  marriage.  He 
did  not  conceal  the  fact  that  this  proposal  had  already  been 
made  to  Natalie  herself ;  he  ventured  to  hope  that  it  was  not 
distasteful  to  her ;  he  would  also  hope  that  her  father  had  no 
objections  to  urge.  It  was  surely  better  that  the  future  of  a 
young  girl  in  her  position  should  be  provided  for.  As  re- 
garded by  himself,  Mr.  Lind's  acquaintance  with  him  was  no 
doubt  but  recent  and  comparatively  slight ;  but  if  he  wished 
any  further  and  natural  inquiry  into  the  character  of  the  man 
to  whom  he  was  asked  to  intrust  his  daughter,  Lord  Evelyn 
might  be  consulted  as  his  closest  friend.  And  a  speedy  an- 
swer was  requested. 

This  letter  was,  on  the  whole,  rather  a  calm  and  business- 


146  SUNRISE. 

like  performance.  Brand  could  appeal  to  Natalie,  and  that 
earnestly  and  honestly  enough ;  he  felt  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  make  any  such  appeal  to  her  father.  Indeed,  any 
third  person  reading  this  letter  would  have  taken  it  to  be 
more  of  the  nature  of  a  formal  demand,  or  something  required 
by  the  conventionalities ;  a  request  the  answer  to  which  was 
not  of  tremendous  importance,  seeing  that  the  two  persons 
most  interested  had  already  come  to  an  understanding. 

But  Mr.  Lind  did  not  look  at  it  in  that  light  at  all.  He 
was  at  first  surprised ;  then  vexed  and  impatient,  rather  than 
angry;  then  determined  to  put  an  end  to  this  nonsense  at 
once.  If  he  had  deemed  the  matter  more  serious,  he  would 
have  sat  down  and  considered  it  with  his  customary  fore 
thought ;  but  he  was  merely  irritated. 

"  Beratinsky  was  not  so  mad  as  I  took  him  to  be,  after  all," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Fortunately,  the  affair  has  not  gone  too 
far." 

He  carried  the  open  letter  up-stairs,  and  found  Natalie  in 
the  drawing-room,  dusting  some  pieces  of  Venetian  glass. 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  with  an  abruptness  that  startled  her, 
and  in  a  tone  of  anger  which  was  just  a  little  bit  affected — 
"  Natalie,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  folly  ?  " 

She  turned  and  regarded  him.  He  held  the  open  letter  in 
his  hand.  She  said,  calmly, 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

This  only  vexed  him  the  more. 

"  I  ask  you  what  you  have  been  doing  in  my  absence  ?  "  he 
said,  angrily.  "What  have  you  been  doing  to  entitle  any 
man  to  write  me  such  a  letter  as  this  ?  His  affection  !  your 
future  ! — has  he  not  something  else  to  think  of  ?  And  you — 
you  seem  not  to  have  been  quite  so  dull  when  I  was  away, 
after  all !  Well,  it  is  time  to  have  an  end  of  it.  Whatever 
nonsense  may  have  been  going  on,  I  hope  you  have  both 
of  you  come  to  your  senses.  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  it ! " 

Now  she  saw  clearly  what  the  letter  must  contain — what 
had  stirred  her  father  to  such  an  unusual  exhibition  of  wrath. 
She  was  a  little  pale,  but  not  afraid.  There  was  no  tremor  in 
her  voice  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  am  sorry,  papa,  you  should  speak  to  me  like  that.  I 
think  you  forget  that  I  am  no  longer  a  child.  I  have  done 
nothing  that  I  am  ashamed  of ;  and  if  Mr.  Brand  has  written 
to  you,  I  am  willing  to  share  the  responsibility  of  anything 
he  says.  You  must  remember,  papa,  that  I  am  a  woman,  and 
that  I  ought  to  have  a  voice  in  anything  that  concerns  my 
own  happiness." 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER.  147 

He  looked  at  her  almost  with  wonder,  as  if  he  did  not  quite 
recognize  her.  Was  this  the  gentle-natured  little  Natalushka, 
whose  eyes  would  fill  with  tears  if  she  was  scolded  even  in 
fun  ? — this  tall,  self-possessed  girl  with  the  pale  face,  and  the 
firm  and  even  tones  ? 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Natalie,  that  it  is  with  your  con- 
sent Brand  has  written  to  me  ?  "  her  father  asked,  with  frown- 
ing brows. 

"  I  did  not  know  he  would  write.     I  expected  he  would." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  with  an  ironical  smile,  "  perhaps  you 
have  taken  time  by  the  forelock,  and  already  promised  to  be 
his  wife  ?  " 

The  answer  was  given  with  the  same  proud  composure. 

"  I  have  not.  But  I  have  promised,  if  I  am  not  his  wife, 
never  to  be  the  wife  of  any  other  man." 

It  was  now  that  Lind  began  to  perceive  how  serious  this 
matter  was.  This  was  no  school-girl,  to  be  frightened  out  of 
a  passing  fancy.  He  must  appeal  to  the  reason  of  a  woman  ; 
and  the  truth  is,  that  if  he  had  known  he  had  this  to  under- 
take, he  would  not  so  hastily  have  gone  into  that  drawing- 
room  with  the  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Sit  down  Natalie,"  he  said,  quite  gently.  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you.  I  spoke  hastily  ;  I  was  surprised  and  angry. 
Now  let  us  see  calmly  how  matters  stand  ;  I  dare  say  no  great 
harm  has  been  done  yet." 

She  took  a  seat  opposite  him ;  there  was  not  the  least  sign 
of  any  girlish  breaking  down,  even  when  he  spoke  to  her  in 
this  kind  way. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  acted  quite  rightly  and  prudently 
when  I  was  away ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Brand,  well,  any  one  can 
see  that  you  have  grown  to  be  a  good-looking  young  woman, 
and  of  course  he  would  like  to  have  a  good-looking  young 
wife  to  show  off  among  the  country  people,  and  to  go  riding 
to  hounds  with  him.  Let  us  see  what  is  involved  in  your  be- 
coming his  wife,  supposing  that  were  ever  seriously  to  be 
thought  of.  You  give  up  all  your  old  sympathies  and  friends, 
your  interest  in  the  work  we  have  on  hand,  and  you  get  trans- 
ferred to  a  Buckinghamshire  country-house  to  take  the  place 
of  the  old  house-keeper.  If  you  do  not  hear  anything  of 
what  is  going  on — of  our  struggles — of  your  friends  all  over 
Europe — what  of  that  ?  You  will  have  the  kitchen-garden  to 
look  after,  and  poultry  to  feed ;  and  your  neighbors  will  talk 
to  you  at  dinner  about  foxes  and  dogs  and  horses  and  the 
clergyman's  charities.  It  will  be  a  healthy  life,  Natalie ; 


148  SUNRISE. 

perhaps  you  will  get  stout  and  rosy,  like  an  English  matron. 
But  your  old  friends — you  will  have  forgotten  them." 

"  Never  ! — never  !  "  she  said,  vehemently ;  and,  despite 
herself,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Then  we  will  take  Mr.  Brand.  The  Buckinghamshire 
house  is  open  again.  An  Englishman's  house  is  his  castle ; 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  work  in  superintending  it,  its  enter- 
tainments, its  dependents.  Perhaps  he  has  a  pack  of  fox- 
hounds ;  no  doubt  he  is  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  the  terror 
of  poachers.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  hunting,  and  giving 
of  dinner-parties,  and  shooting  of  pheasants,  do  you  think  he 
has  much  time  or  thought  for  the  future  of  the  millions  of 
poor  wretches  all  over  Europe  who  once  claimed  his  care  ? 
Not  much  !  That  was  in  his  days  of  irresponsible  bachelor- 
hood. Now  he  is  settled  down — he  is  a  country  gentleman. 
The  world  can  set  itself  right  without  him.  He  is  anxious 
about  the  price  of  wheat." 

"  Ah,  how  you  mistake  him,  papa !  "  said  she,  proudly. 
And  there  was  a  proud  light  on  her  face  too  as  she  rose  and 
quickly  went  to  a  small  escritoire  close  by.  A  few  seconds 
sufficed  her  to  write  a  short  note,  which  she  brought  back  to 
her  father." 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  I  will  abide  by  that  test.  If  he  says 
•'  yes,'  I  will  never  see  him  again — never  speak  one  word  to 
him  again." 

Her  father  took  the  note  and  read  it.     It  was  as  follows  : 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — 1  am  anxious  about  the  future  for 
both  of  us.  If  you  will  promise  me,  now  and  at  once,  to  give 
up  the  work  you  are  engaged  in,  I  will  be  your  wife,  when  and 
where  you  will.  NATALIE." 

"  Send  it !  "  she  said,  proudly.  "  I  am  not  afraid.  If  he 
says  '  yes,'  I  will  never  see  him  again." 

The  challenge  was  not  accepted.  He  tore  the  note  in  two 
and  flung  it  into  the  grate. 

"  It  is  time  to  put  an  end  to  this  folly,"  he  saicl  impatiently. 
"  I  have  shown  you  what  persistence  in  it  would  bring  on 
yourself.  You  would  be  estranged  from  everything  and  every 
one  you  have  hitherto  been  interested  in ;  you  would  have  to 
begin  a  new  life,  for  which  you  are  not  fitted ;  you  would  be 
the  means  of  doing  our  cause  an  irreparable  injury.  Yes,  I 
say  so  frankly.  The  withdrawal  of  this  man  Brand,  which 
would  certainly  follow,  sooner  or  later,  on  his  marriage, 
would  be  a  <rreat  blow  to  us.  We  have  need  of  his  work ; 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER.  149 

we  have  still  more  need  of  his  money.  And  it  is  you,  you  of 
.  all  people  in  the  world,  who  would  be  the  means  of  taking 
him  away  from  us  !  " 

"  But  it  is  not  so,  papa,"  she  said  in  great  distress. 
"  Surely  you  do  not  think  that  I  am  begging  to  be  allowed 
to  become  his  wife  ?  That  is  for  him  to  decide  ;  I  will  follow 
his  wishes  as  far  as  I  can — as  far  as  you  will  allow  me,  papa. 
But  this  I  know,  that,  so  far  from  interfering  with  the  work 
he  has  undertaken,  it  would  only  spur  him  on.  Should  I  have 
thought  of  it  otherwise  ?  Ah,  surely  you  know — you  have 
said  so  to  me  yourself — he  is  not  one  to  go  back." 

"  He  is  an  Englishman  ;  you  do  not  understand  English- 
men," her  father  said ;  and  then  he  added,  firmly,  "  You  are 
not  to  be  deterred  by  what  may  happen  to  yourself.  Well, 
consider  what  may  happen  to  him.  1  tell  you  I  will  not  have 
this  risk  run.  George  Brand  is  too  valuable  to  us.  If  you 
or  he  persist  in  this  folly,  it  will  be  necessary  to  provide 
against  all  contingencies  by  procuring  his  banishment." 

"  Banishment ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  quick  and  fright- 
ened look. 

"  That  may  not  sound  much  to  you,"  said  her  father, 
calmly,  "for  you  have  scarcely  what  may  be  called  a  native 
country.  You  have  lived  anywhere,  everywhere.  It  is  differ- 
ent with  an  Englishman,  who  has  his  birthplace,  his  family 
estate,  his  friends  in  England." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  papa  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 
She  had  not  been  frightened  by  the  fancy  picture  he  .had 
drawn  of  her  own  future,  but  this  ominous  threat  about  her 
lover  seemed  full  of  menace. 

"  I  say  that,  at  all  hazards,"  Lind  continued,  looking  at 
her  from  under  the  bushy  eyebrows,  "  this  folly  must  be 
brought  to  an  end.  It  is  not  expedient  that  a  marriage  be- 
tween you  and  Mr.  Brand  should  even  be  thought  of.  You  have 
both  got  other  duties,  inexorable  duties.  It  is  my  business 
to  see  that  nothing  comes  in  the  way  of  their  fulfilment.  Do 
you  understand  ? " 

She  sat  dumb  now,  with  a  vague  fear  about  the  future  of 
her  lover ;  for  herself  she  had  no  fear. 

"  Some  one  must  be  sent  to  Philadelphia,  to  remain  there 
probably  for  his  lifetime.  Do  not  drive  me  to  send  G^rge 
Brand." 

"  Papa  !  "  It  was  a  cry  of  appeal ;  but  he  paid  no  heed. 
This  matter  he  was  determined  to  settle  at  once. 

"  Understand,  this  idle  notion  must  be  dropped ;  otherwise 
George  Brand  goes  to  the  States  forthwith,  and  remains 


1 $o  SUNRISE. 

there.  Fortunately,  I  don't  suppose  the  matter  has  gone  far 
enough  to  cause  either  of  you  any  deep  misery.  This  is  not 
what  one  would  call  a  madly  impassioned  letter." 

She  scarcely  perceived  the  sneer;  some  great  calamity 
had  befallen  her,  of  which  she  as  yet  scarcely  knew  the  ex- 
tent ;  she  sat  mute  and  bewildered — too  bewildered  to  ask 
why  all  this  thing  should  be. 

"  That  may  not  seem  much  to  you,"  he  said,  in  the  same 
cold,  implacable  way.  "  But  banishment  for  life  from  his 
native  country,  his  home,  his  friends,  is  something  to  an 
Englishman.  And  if  we  are  likely  to  lose  his  work  in  this 
country  through  a  piece  of  sentimental  folly,  we  shall  take 
care  not  to  lose  it  in  America." 

She  rose. 

"  Is  that  all,  papa  ?  " 

She  seemed  too  stunned  to  say  any  more. 

He  rose  also,  and  took  her  hand. 

"  It  is  better  to  have  a  clear  understanding,  Natalie. 
Some  might  say  that  I  object  to  your  marrying  because  you 
are  a  help  to  me,  and  your  going  away  would  leave  the  house 
empty.  Perhaps  you  may  have  some  kind  friend  put  that 
notion  into  your  head.  But  that  is  not  the  reason  why  I 
speak  firmly  to  you,  why  I  show  you  you  must  dismiss  this 
fancy  of  the  moment — if  you  have  entertained  it  as  well  as 
he — as  impossible.  I  have  larger  interests  at  stake ;  I  am 
bound  to  sacrifice  every  personal  feeling  to  my  duty.  And  I 
have  shown  you  what  would  be  the  certain  result  of  such  a 
marriage;  therefore,  I  say,  such  a  marriage  is  not  to  be 
thought  of.  Come,  now,  Natalie,  you  claim  to  be  a  woman  : 
be  a  woman  !  Something  higher  is  wanted  from  you.  What 
would  all  our  friends  think  of  you  if  you  were  to  sink  into  a 
position  like  that — the  house-keeper  of  a  country  squire  ? " 

She  said  nothing ;  but  she  went  away  to  her  own  room  and 
sat  down,  her  face  pale,  her  heart  like  lead.  And  all  her 
thought  was  of  this  possible  doom  hanging  over  him  if  he 
persisted ;  and  she  guessed,  knowing  something  of  him, 
whether  he  was  likely  to  be  dissuaded  by  a  threat. 

Then,  for  a  second  or  so,  a  wild  despairing  fancy  crossed 
her  mind,  and  her  fingers  tightened,  and  the  proud  mouth 
grew  firm.  If  it  was  through  her  that  this  penalty  of  banish- 
ment overtook  him,  why  should  she  not  do  as  others  had 
done  ? 

But  no — that  was  impossible.  She  had  not  the  courage  to 
make  such  an  offer.  She  could  only  sit  and  think;  and  the 
picture  before  her  imagination  was  that  of  her  lover  sailing 


EVASIONS. 


away  from  his  native  land.  She  saw  the  ship  getting  farther 
and  farther  away  from  English  shores,  until  it  disappeared 
altogether  in  a  mist  of  rain — and  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

EVASIONS. 

IT  was  in  Manchester,  whither  he  had  gone  to  meet  the 
famous  John  Molyneux,  that  George  Brand  awoke  on  this 
dull  and  drizzly  morning.  The  hotel  was  almost  full.  He 
had  been  sent  to  the  top  floor ;  and  now  the  outlook  from 
the  window  was  dismal  enough — some  slated  roofs,  a  red 
chimney  or  two,  and  farther  off  the  higher  floors  of  a  lofty 
warehouse,  in  which  the  first  signs  of  life  were  becoming  vis- 
ible. Early  as  it  was,  there  was  a  dull  roar  of  traffic  in  the 
distance ;  occasionally  there  was  the  scream  of  a  railway 
whistle. 

Neither  the  morning  nor  the  prospect  was  conducive  to  a 
cheerful  view  of  life ;  and  perhaps  that  was  why,  when  he 
took  in  his  boots  and  found  in  one  of  them  a  letter,  deposited 
there  by  the  chamber-maid,  which  he  at  once  saw  was  in  Ferdi- 
nand Lind's  handwriting,  that  he  instantly  assumed,  mentally, 
an  attitude  of  defiance.  He  did  not  open  the  letter  just 
then.  He  took  time  to"  let  his  opposition  harden.  He  knew 
there  would  be  something  or  somebody  to  fight.  It  was  too 
much  to  expect  that  everything  should  go  smoothly.  If  there 
was  such  a  thing  as  a  law  of  compensation,  that  beautiful 
dream-like  evening  at  the  opera — the  light,  the  color,  the 
softened  music  ;  the  scent  of  white-rose ;  the  dark,  soft  eyes, 
and  the  last  pressure  of  the  hand;  the  forget-me-nots  he 
carried  away  with  him — would  have  to  be  paid  for  somehow. 
And  he  had  always  distrusted  Ferdinand  Lind.  His  instinct 
assured  him  that  this  letter,  which  he  had  been  looking  for 
and  yet  dreading,  contained  a  distinct  refusal. 

His  instinct  was  completely  at  fault.  The  letter  was 
exceedingly  kind  and  suave.  Mr.  Lind  might  try  to  arouse 
his  daughter  from  this  idle  day-dream  by  sharp  words  and  an 
ominous  threat ;  he  knew  that  it  was  otherwise  he  must  deal 
with  Mr.  George  Brand. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Brand,"  he  wrote,  "  as  you  may  imagine, 
your  letter  has  surprised  me  not  a  little,  and  pleased  me  too 


152  SUNRISE. 

for  a  father  naturally  is  proud  to  see  his  daughter  thought 
well  of ;  and  your  proposal  is  very  flattering  ;  especially,  I 
may  add,  as  you  have  seen  so  little  of  Natalie.  You  are  very 
kind — and  bold,  and  unlike  English  nature — to  take  her  and 
family  on  trust  as  it  were  ;  for  are  not  your  countrymen  very 
particular  as  to  the  relatives  of  those  they  would  marry  with  ? 
and  of  Natalie's  relatives  and  friends  how  many  have  you 
seen  ?  Excuse  me  if  I  do  not  quite  explain  myself ;  for 
writing  in  English  is  not  as  familiar  to  me  as  to  Natalie,  who  is 
quite  an  Englishwoman  now.  Very  well ;  I  think  it  is  kind 
of  you  to  think  so  highly  of  my  daughter  as  to  offer  her  to 
make  her  your  wife,  you  knowing  so  little  of  her.  But  there 
you  do  not  mistake;  she  is  worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  any  one- 
If  she  ever  marries,  I  hope  she  will  be  as  good  a  wife  as  she 
has  been  a  daughter." 

"  If  she  ever  marries  !  "  This  phrase  sounded  somewhat 
ominous;  and  yet,  if  he  meant  to  say  "No,"  why  not  say  it  at 
once  ?  Brand  hastily  glanced  over  the  letter,  to  find,  some- 
thing definite ;  but  he  found  that  would  not  do.  He  began 
again,  and  read  with  deliberation.  The  letter  had  obviously 
been  written  with  care. 

"  I  have  also  to  thank  you,  besides,  for  the  very  flattering 
proposal,  for  your  care  to  put  this  matter  before  me  at  an 
early  time.  Regarding  how  little  Natalie  and  you  have  seen 
each  other,  it  is  impossible  that  either  her  or  your  affection 
can  be  so  serious  that  it  is  not  fair  to  look  on  your  proposal 
with  some  views  as  to  expediency ;  and  at  an  early  time  one 
can  easily  control  one's  wishes.  I  can  answer  for  my  daughter 
that  she  has  always  acted  as  I  thought  best  for  her  happiness  ; 
and  I  am  sure  that  now,  or  at  any  time,  in  whatever  emergency, 
she  would  far  prefer  to  have  the  decision  rest  with  me,  rather 
than  take  the  responsibility  on  herself." 

When  George  Brand  caine  to  this  passage  he  read  it  over 
again  ;  and  his  comment  was,  "  My  good  friend,  don't  be  too 
sure  of  that.  It  is  possible  that  you  have  lived  nineteen  years 
with  your  daughter  to  very  little  purpose,  .so  far  as  your  knowl- 
edge of  her  character  is  concerned." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  sir,"  the  letter  proceeded,  "  all  this 
being  4n  such  a  way,  might  I  ask  you  to  reflect  again  over 
your  proposal,  and  examine  it  from  the  view  of  expediency  ? 
You  and  I  are  not  free  agents,  just  to  please  ourselves  when 
we  like.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  my  first  objection  to  your 
very  flattering  proposal ;  I  believed  you  might,  in  marrying 
her,  withdraw  from  the  work  we  are  all  engaged  in  ;  I  feared 
this  as  a  great  calamity — an  injury  done  to  many  to  gratify 


EVASIONS.  153 

the  fancy  of  one.  But  Natalie,  I  will  confess,  scorned  me 
for  that  doubt ;  and,  indeed,  was  so  foolish  as  to  propose  a 
little  hoax,  to  prove  to  me  that,  even  if  she  promised  to 
marry  you  as  a  reward,  she  could  not  get  you  to  abandon  our 
cause.  *  No,  no,'  she  said  ;  '  that  is  not  to  be  feared.  He  is 
not  one  to  go  back.'  " 

When  George  Brand  read  these  words  his  breath  came  and 
went  a  little  quickly.  She  should  not  find  her  faith  in  him 
misplaced. 

"  That  is  very  well,  very  satisfactory,  I  said  to  her.  We  can- 
not afford  to  lose  you,  whatever  happens.  To  return  ;  there  are 
more  questions  of  expediency.  For  example,  how  can  one 
tell  what  may  be  demanded  of  one?  Would  it  be  wise  for 
you  to  be  hampered  with  a  wife  when  you  know  not  where 
you  may  have  to  go  ?  Again,  would  not  the  cares  of  a  house- 
hold seriously  interfere  with  your  true  devotion  to  your  labors  ? 
You  are  so  happily  placed  !  You  are  free  from  responsi- 
bilities :  why  increase  them  ?  At  present  Natalie  is  in  a 
natural  and  comfortable  position  ;  she  has  grown  accustomed 
to  it ;  she  is  proud  to  know  that  she  can  be  of  assistance  to 
us ;  her  life  is  not  an  unhappy  one.  But  consider — a  young 
wife,  separated  from  her  husband  perhaps  by  the  Atlantic : 
in  a  new  home,  with  new  duties  ;  anxious,  terrified  with 
apprehensions  :  surely  that  is  not  the  change  you  would  wish 
to  see  ?  " 

For  a  second  Brand  was  almost  frightened  by  this  picture, 
and  a  pang  of  remorse  flashed  through  his  heart.  But  then 
his  common-sense  reasserted  itself.  Why  the  Atlantic  ? 
Why  should  they  be  separated  ?  Why  should  she  be  terrified 
with  apprehensions  ? 

"  As  regards  her  future,"  her  father  continued,  "I  am  not 
an  old  man  ;  and  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  me,  she  has 
friends.  Nor  will  I  say  to  you  a  word  about  myself,  or  my 
claim  on  her  society  and  help  ;  for  parents  have  not  the  right- 
to  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  their  children  to  their  own  con- 
venience ;  it  is  so  fortunate  when  they  find,  however,  that  there 
is  no  dispositions  on  the  part  of  the  young  to  break  those  ties 
that  have  been  formed  by  the  companionship  of  many  years. 
Ittis  this,  my  dear  friend  and  colleague,  that  makes  me  thank 
you  for  having  spoken  so  early  ;  that  I  ask  you  to  reconsider, 
and  that  I  can  advise  my  daughter,  without  the  fear  that  I 
am  acting  in  a  tyrannical  manner  or  thwarting  any  serious 
affection  on  her  part.  You  will  perceive  I  do  not  dictate. 
I  ask  you  to  think  over  whether  it  is  wise  for  your  own  happi- 
ness— whether  it  would  improve  Natalie's  probabilities  of 


1 54  SUNRISE. 

happiness — whether  it  would  interfere  in  some  measure  with 
the  work  you  have  undertaken — if  you  continue  to  cherish 
this  fancy,  and  let  it  grow  on  you.  Surely  it  is  better  for  a 
man  to  have  but  one  purpose  in  life.  Nevertheless,  I  am 
open  to  conviction. 

"  That  reminds  me  that  there  is  another  matter  on  which 
I  should  like  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  when  there  is  the  chance. 
If  there  is  a  break  in  the  current  of  your  present  negotiations, 
shall  you  have  time  to  run  up  to  London  ?  Only  this  :  you 
will,  I  trust,  not  seek  to  see  Natalie,  or  to  write  to  her,  until 
we  have  come  to  an  understanding.  Again  I  thank  you  for 
having  spoken  to  me  so  early,  before  any  mischief  can  have 
been  done.  Think  over  what  I  have  said,  my  dear  friend ; 
and  remember,  above  all  things,  where  your  chief  duty  lies. 
"  Yours  sincerely,  FERDINAND  LIND." 

He  read  this  letter  over  two  or  three  times,  and  the  more 
he  read  it  the  more  he  was  impressed  with  the  vexatious  con- 
viction that  it  would  be  an  uncommonly  difficult  thing  to  answer 
it.  It  was  so  reasonable,  so  sensible,  so  plausible.  Then  his 
old  suspicions  returned.  Why  was  this  man  Lindso  plausible  ? 
If  he  objected,  why  did  he  not  say  so  outright  ?  All  these 
specious  arguments  :  how  was  one  to  turn  and  twist,  evading 
some,  meeting  others  ;  and  all  the  time  taking  it  for  granted 
that  the  happiness  of  two  people's  lives  was  to  be  dependent 
on  such  logic-chopping  as  could  be  put  down  on  a  sheet  of 
paper  ? 

Then  he  grew  impatient.  He  would  not  answer  the  letter 
at  all.  Lind  did  not  understand.  The  matter  had  got  far 
ahead  of  this  clever  argumentation  ;  he  would  appeal  to 
Natalie  herself  ;  it  was  her  "  Yes  "  or  "  No  "  that  would  be 
final ;  not  any  contest  and  balancing  of  words.  There  were 
others  he  could  recall,  of  more  importance  to  him.  He  could 
almost  hear  them  now  in  the  trembling,  low  voice  :  "  I  will 
be  your  wife,  or  the  wife  of  no  one.  Dear  friend,  lean  say  ?io 
more."  And  again,  when  she  gave  him  the  forget-me-nots, 
"  Whatever  happens,  you  will  remember  that  there  was  one  who 
at  least  wished  to  be  worthy  of  your  love.''1  He  could  remember 
the  proud,  brave  look  j  again  he  felt  the  trembling  of  the 
hand  that  timidly  sought  his  for  an  instant ;  he  could  almost 
scent  the  white-rose  again,  and  hear  the  murmur  of  the  peo- 
ple in  the  corridor.  And  this  was  the  woman,  into  whose 
eyes  he  had  looked  as  if  they  were  the  eyes  of  his  wife,  who 
was  to  be  taken  away  from  him  by  means  of  a  couple  of  sheets 
of  note-paper  all  covered  over  with  little  specious  suggestions. 


EVASIONS.  155 

He  thrust  the  letter  into  a  pocket,  and  hurriedly  proceeded 
with  his  dressing,  for  he  had  a  breakfast  appointment.  In- 
deed, before  he  was  ready,  the  porter  came  up  and  said  that 
a  gentleman  had  called  for  him,  and  was  waiting  for  him  in 
the  coffee-room. 

"  Ask  him  what  he  will  have  for  breakfast,  and  let  him  go 
on.  I  shall  be  down  presently." 

When  Brand  did  at  length  go  down,  he  found  that  his 
visitor  had  frankly  accepted  this  permission,  and  had  before 
him  a  large  plate  of  corned-beef,  with  a  goodly  tankard  of 
beer.  Mr.  John  Molyneux,  although  he  was  a  great  authority 
among  English  workmen  generally,  and  especially  among  the 
trades-unionists  of  the  North,  had  little  about  him  of  the 
appearance  of  the  sleek-haired  demagogue  as  that  person  is 
usually  represented  to  us.  He  was  a  stout,  yeoman-looking 
man,  with  a  frosty-red  face  and  short  silver-white  whiskers ; 
he  had  keen,  shrewd  blue  eyes,  and  a  hand  that  gave  a  firm 
grip.  The  fact  is,  that  Molyneux  had  in  early  life  been  a 
farmer,  and  a  well-to-do-farmer.  But  he  had  got  smitten 
with  the  writings  of  Cobbett,  and  he  began  to  write  too. 
Then  he  took  to  lecturing — on  the  land  laws,  on  Robert 
Owenism,  on  the  Church  of  England,  but  more  especially  on 
co-operation.  Finding,  however,  that  all  this  pamphleteer- 
ing and  lecturing  was  playing  ducks  and  drakes  with  his 
farming,  and  being  in  many  respects  a  shrewd  and  sensible 
person,  he  resolved  on  selling  out  of  his  farm  and  investing 
the  proceeds  in  the  government  stock  of  America,  the  country 
of  his  deepest  admiration.  In  the  end  he  found  that  he  had 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  on  which  he 
could  live  very  comfortably,  while  giving  up  all  his  time  and 
attention  to  his  energetic  propagandism.  This  was  the  per- 
son who  now  gave  Brand  a  hearty  greeting,  and  then  took  a 
long  draught  at  the  tankard  of  ale. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  he,  looking  cautiously  around, 
and  then  giving  a  sly  wink.  "  I  thought  we  might  have  a  chat 
by  ourselves  in  this  corner." 

Brand  nodded ;  there  was  no  one  near  them. 

"  Now  I  have  been  considering  about  what  you  told  me  ; 

and  last  night  I  called  on  Professor ,  of  Owens  College, 

ye  know,  and  I  had  some  further  talk  with  him.  Well,  sir, 
it's  a  grand  scheme — splendid ;  and  I  don't  wonder  you've 
made  such  progress  as  I  hear  of.  And  when  all  the  lads  are 
going  in  for  it,  what  would  they  say  if  old  John  Molyneux 
kept  out,  eh  ? " 

"  Why,  they  would  say  he  had  lost  some  of  his  old  pluck : 


156  SUNRISE. 

that's  about  what  they  would  say,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Brand ; 
though  the  fact  was  that  he  was  thinking  a  good  deal  more 
about  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  There  was  one  point,  though,  Mr.  Brand,  that  I  did  not 
put  before  either  Professor or  yourself,  and  it  is  impor- 
tant. The  point  is,  dibs." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Brand,  absently ;  he  was,  in 
truth,  recalling  the  various  phrases  and  sentences  in  that 
letter  of  Ferdinand  Lind. 

"  Dibs,  sir — dibs,"  said  the  farmer-agitator,  energetically. 
"  You  know  what  makes  the  mare  go.  And  you  know  these 
are  not  the  best  of  times  ;  and  some  of  the  lads  will  be  think- 
ing they  pay  enough  into  their  own  Union.  That's  what  I 
want  to  know,  Mr.  Brand,  before  I  can  advise  any  one.  You 
need  money ;  how  do  you  get  it  ?  What's  the  damage  on 
joining,  and  after  ?  " 

Brand  pulled  himself  together. 

"  Oh,  money  ?  "  said  he.  "  That  need  not  trouble  you.  We 
exact  nothing.'  How  could  we  ask  people  to  buy  a  pig  in  a 
poke  ?  There's  not  a  working-man  in  the  country  but  would 
put  us  down  as  having  invented  an  ingenious  scheme  for 
living  on  other  people's  earnings.  It  is  not  money  we  want ; 
it  is  men." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Molyneux,  looking  rather  puzzled.  "  But 
when  you've  got  the  machine,  you  want  oil,  eh  ?  The  basis 
of  everything,  sir,  is  dibs  :  what  can  ye  do  without  it  ?  " 

"  We  want  money,  certainly,"  Brand  said.  "  But  we  do 
not  touch  a  farthing  that  is  not  volunteered.  There  are  no 
compulsory  subscriptions.  We  take  it  that  the  more  a  man 
sees  of  what  we  are  doing,  and  of  what  has  to  be  done,  the 
more  he  will  be  willing  to  give  according  to  his  means ;  and 
so  far  there  has  been  no  disappointment." 

"  H'm  !  "  said  Molyneux,  doubtfully.  "I  reckon  you  won't 
get  much  from  our  chaps." 

"  You  don't  know.  It  is  wonderful  what  a  touch  of  enthu- 
siasm will  do — and  emulation  between  the  local  centers. 
Besides,  we  are  always  having  ascessions  of  richer  folk,  and 
these  are  expected  to  make  up  all  deficiences." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  other.  "  I  see  more  daylight  that  way. 
Now  you,  Mr.  Brand,  must  have  been  a  good  fat  prize  for 
them,  eh  ? " 

The  shrewd  inquiring  glance  that  accompanied  this  remark 
set  George  Brand  laughing. 

"  I  see,  Mr.  Molyneux,  you  want  to  get  at  the  '  dibs '  of  every- 


EVASIONS,  157 

thing.  Well,  I  can't  enlighten  you  any  further  until  you  join 
us  :  you  have  not  said  whether  you  will  or  not." 

"  I  will ! "  said  the  other,  bringing  his  fist  down  on  the  table, 
though  he  still  spoke  in  a  loud  whisper.  "  I'm  your  man  ! 
In  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound  !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Brand,  politely,  "  but  you  are  in 
for  neither,  unless  you  like.  You  may  be  in  for  a  good  deal  of 
work,  though.  You  must  bring  us  men,  and  you  will  be  let 
off  both  the  penny  and  the  pound.  Now,  could  you  run  up 
with  me  to  London  to-night,  and  be  admitted  to-morrow,  and 
get  to  know  something  of  what  we  are  doing  ? " 

"  Is  it  necessary  ?  " 

"  In  your  case,  yes.  We  want  to  make  you  a  person  of  im- 
portance." 

So  at  last  Molyneux  agreed,  and  they  started  for  London  in 
the  evening;  the  big,  shrew,  farmer-looking  man  being  as 
pleased  as  a  child  to  have  certain  signs  and  passwords  confi- 
ded to  him.  Brand  made  light  of  these  things — and,  in  fact, 
they  were  only  such  as  were  used  among  the  outsiders ;  but 
Molyneux  was  keenly  interested,  and  already  pictured  himself 
going  through  Europe  and  holding  this  subtle  conversation 
with  all  the  unknown  companions  whom  chance  might  throw 
in  his  way. 

But  long  ere  he  reached  London  the  motion-of  the  train  had 
sent  him  to  sleep ;  and  George  Brand  had  plenty  of  time  to 
think  over  that  letter,  and  to  guess  at  what  possible  intention 
might  lie  under  its  plausible  phrases.  He  had  leisure  to 
think  of  other  things,  too.  The  question  of  money,  for  exam- 
ple— about  which  Molyneux  had  been  so  curious  with  regard 
to  this  association — was  one  on  which  he  himself  was  but 
slightly  informed,  the  treasury  department  being  altogether 
outside  his  sphere.  He  did  not  even  know  whether  Lind  had 
private  means,  or  was  enabled  to  live  as  he  did  by  the  associ- 
ation, for  its  own  ends.  He  knew  that  the  Society  had  nu- 
merous paid  agents ;  no  doubt,  he  himself  could  have  claimed 
a  salary,  had  it  been  worth  his  while.  But  the  truth  is  that 
"  dibs  "  concerned  him  very  little.  He  had  never  been  extrav- 
agant ;  he  had  always  lived  well  within  his  income  ;  and  his 
chief  satisfaction  in  being  possessed  of  a  liberal  fortune  lay 
in  the  fact  that  he  had  not  to  bother  his  head  about  money. 
There  was  one  worry  the  less  in  life. 

But  then  George  Brand  had  been  a  good  deal  about  the 
world,  and  had  seen  something  of  human  life,  and  knew  very 
well  the  power  the  possession  of  money  gives.  Why,  this 
very  indifference,  this  happy  carelessness  about  pecuniary  de- 


158  SUNRISE. 

tails,  was  but  the  consequence  of  his  having  a  large  fund  in 
the  background  that  he  cornel  draw  on  at  will.  If  he  did  not 
overvalue  his  fortune,  on  the  other  hand  he  did  not  under- 
value it ;  and  he  was  about  the  last  man  in  the  world  who 
could  reasonably  have  been  expected  to  part  with  it. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A   TALISMAN. 

NATALIE  LIND  was  busy  writing  at  the  window  of  the 
drawing-room  in  Curzon  Street  when  Calabressa  entered, 
unannounced.  He  had  outstripped  the  little  Anneli ;  perhaps 
he  was  afraid  of  being  refused.  He  was  much  excited. 

"  Forgive  me,  signorina,  if  I  startle  you,"  he  said,  rapidly,  in 
his  native  tongue  ;  "  forgive  me,  little  daughter.  We  go  away 
to-night,  I  and  the  man  Kirski,  whom  you  saved  from  mad- 
ness :  we  are  ordered  away ;  it  is  possible  I  may  never  see  you 
again.  Now  listen." 

He  took  a  seat  beside  her ;  in  his  hurry  and  eagerness  he 
had  for  the  moment  abandoned  his  airy  manner. 

"  When  I  came  here  I  expected  to  see  you  a  school-girl — 
some  one  in  safe-keeping — with  no  troubles  to  think  of.  You 
are  a  woman ;  you  may  have  trouble  ;  and  it  is  I,  Calabressa, 
who  would  then  cut  off  my  right  hand  to  help  you.  I  said  I 
would  leave  you  my  address ;  I  cannot.  I  dare  not  tell  any 
one  even  where  I  am  going.  What  of  that  ?  Look  well  at 
this  card." 

He  placed  before  her  a  small  bit  of  pastebord,  with  some 
lines  marked  on  it. 

"  Now  we  will  imagine  that  some  day  you  are  in  great 
trouble  ;  you  know  not  what  to  do ;  and  you  suddenly,  bethink 
yourself,  *  Now  it  is  Calabressa,  and  the  friends  of  Calabressa, 
who  must  help  me — '  " 

"  Pardon  me,  signore,"  said  Natalie,  gently.  "  To  whom 
should  I  go  but  to  my  father,  if  I  were  in  trouble  ?  And  why 
should  one  anticipate  trouble  ?  If  it  were  to  come,  perhaps 
one  might  be  able  to  brave  it." 

"  My  little  daughter,  you  vex  me.  You  must  listen.  If  no 
trouble  comes,  well !  If  it  does,  are  you  any  the  worse  for 
knowing  that  there  are  many  on  whom  you  can  rely  ?  Very 
well ;  look  !  This  is  the  Via  Roma  in  Naples." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Natalie  :  why  should  she  not  humor  the 


A  TALISMAN.  159 

good-natured  old  albino,  who  had  been  a  friend  of  her 
mother's  ? 

•*  You  go  along  it  until  you  come  to  this  little  lane  ;  it  is  the 
Vico  Carlo  ;  you  ascend  the  lane — here  is  the  first  turning — 
you  go  round,  and  behold !  the  entrance  to  a  court.  The 
court  is  dark,  but  there  is  a  lamp  burning  all  day ;  go  farther 
in,  there  are  wine-vaults.  You  enter  the  wine-vaults,  and  say, 
*  Bartolotti.'  You  do  not  say,  '  Is  Signor  Bartolotti  at  home  ? ' 
or, '  Can  I  see  the  illustrious  Signor  Bartolotti,'  but '  Bartolotti,' 
clear  and  short.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  You  give  yourself  too  much  trouble,  signore." 

"  I  hope  so,  little  daughter.  I  hope  you  will  never  have  to 
search  for  these  wine-vaults;  but  who  knows?  Alors,  one 
comes  to  you,  and  says,  *  What  is  your  pleasure,  signorina  ? ' 
Then  you  ask,  *  Where  is  Calabressa  ? '  The  answer  to  that  ? 
It  may  be,  '  We  do  not  know ; '  or  it  may  be,  '  Calabressa  is  in 
prison  again,'  or  it  may  be, t  Calabressa  is  dead.'  Never  mind. 
When  Calabressa  dies,  no  one  will  care  less  than  Calabressa 
himself." 

"  Some  one  would  care,  signore  ;  you  have  a  mother." 

He  took  her  hand. 

"And  a  daughter,  too,"  he  said,  lightly  ;  "  if  the  wicked  little 
minx  would  only  listen.  Then  you  know  what  you  must  say 
to  the  man  whom  you  will  see  at  the  wine-vaults  ;  you  must  say 
this,  *  Brother,  I  come  with  a  message  from  Calabressa ;  it  is 
the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi  who  demands  your  help.' 
Then  do  you  know  what  will  happen  ?  From  the  next  morning 
you  will  be  under  the  protection  of  the  greatest  power  in 
Europe ;  a  power  unknown  but  invincible  ;  a  power  that  no 
one  dares  to  disobey.  Ah,  little  one,  you  will  find  out  what 
the  friends  of  Calabressa  can  do  for  you  when  you  appeal  to 
them  ! " 

He  smiled  proudly. 

"Allans !  Put  this  card  away  in  a  secret  place.  Do  not 
show  it  to  any  one ;  let  no  one  know  the  name  I  confided  to 
you.  Can  you  remember  it,  little  daughter  ? " 

"  Bartolotti." 

"  Good  !  Now  that  is  one  point  settled  ;  here  is  the  next. 
You  do  not  seem  to  have  any  portrait  of  your  mother,  my  little 
one  ? " 

"Ah,  no  ! "  she  exclaimed,  quickly  ;  for  she  was  more  inter- 
ested now.  "  I  suppose  my  father  could  not  bear  to  be  re- 
minded of  his  loss  :  if  there  is  any  portrait,  I  have  not  seen  it ; 
and  how  could  I  ask  him  ?  " 


160  SC7NRSSE. 

He  regarded  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  spoke  more 
slowly  than  hitherto  : 

"  Little  Natalushka,  I  told  you  I  am  going  away  ;  and  who 
knows  what  may  happen  to  me  ?  I  have  no  money  or  land  to 
leave  to  any  one  ;  if  I  had  a  wife  and  children,  the  only  name 
I  could  leave  them  would  be  the  name  of  a  jailbird.  If  I 
were  to  leave  a  will  behind  me,  it  would  read,  '  My  heart  to 
my  beloved  Italia ;  my  curse  to  Austria  ;  and  my — -'  Ah,  yes, 
after  all  I  have  something  to  leave  to  the  little  Natalushka." 

He  put  his  hand,  which  trembled  somewhat,  into  the  breast 
of  his  coat,  and  brought  out  a  small  leather  case. 

"  I  am  about  to  give  you  my  greatest  treasure,  little  one ; 
my  only  treasure.  I  think  you  will  value  it." 

He  opened  the  case  and  handed  it  to  her ;  inside  there  was 
a  miniature,  painted  on  ivory ;  it  might  have  been  a  portrait  of 
Natalie  herself.  For  some  time  the  girl  did  not  say  a  word, 
but  her  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears. 

"  She  was  very  beautiful  signore,"  she  murmured. 

"Ah  little  daughter,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "I  am  glad  to  see 
the  portrait  in  safe-keeping  at  last.  Many  a  risk  I  have  run 
with  it ;  many  a  time  I  have  had  to  hide  it.  And  you  must 
hide  it  too ;  let  no  one  see  it  but  yourself.  But  now  you  will 
give  me  one  of  your  own  in  exchange,  my  little  one ;  and  so 
the  bargain  is  complete." 

She  went  to  the  small  table  adjoining  to  hunt  among  the 
photographs. 

"  And  lastly,  one  more  point,  Signorina  Natalushka,"  said 
Calabressa,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  got  through  some 
difficult  work.  "  You  asked  me  once  to  find  out  for  you  who 
was  the  lady  from  whom  you  received  the  little  silver  locket. 
Well,  you  see,  that  is  now  out  of  my  power.  I  am  going  away. 
If  you  are  still  curious,  you  must  ask  some  one  else  ;  but  is  it 
not  natural  to  suppose  that  the  locket  may  have  been  stolen  a 
great  many  years  ago,  and  at  last  the  thief  resolves  to  restore 
it  ?  No  matter ;  it  is  only  a  locket." 

She  returned  with  a  few  photographs  for  him  to  chose 
from.  He  picked  out  two. 

"  There  is  one  for  me  ;  there  is  one  for  my  old  mother.  I 
will  say  to  her,  *  Do  you  remember  the  young  Hungarian 
lady  who  came  to  see  you  at  Spezia  ?  Put  on  your  spectacles 
now,  and  see  whether  that  is  not  the  same  young  lady.  Ah, 
good  old  mother  ;  can  you  see  no  better  than  that  ? — that  is 
not  Natalie  Berezolyi  at  all ;  that  is  her  daughter,  who  lives 
in  England.  But  she  has  not  got  the  English  way  ;  she  is  not 
content  when  she  herself  is  comfortable  ;  she  thinks  of  others  • 


A   TALISMAN.  161 

she  has  an  ear  for  voices  afar  off.'  That  is  what  I  shall  say 
to  the  old  mother." 

He  put  the  photographs  in  his  pocket. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  my  little  daughter,"  said  he,  "  now 
that  our  pressing  business  is  over,  one  may  speak  at  leisure  : 
and  what  of  you,  now  ?  My  sight  is  not  very  good  ;  but 
even  my  eyes  can  see  that  you  are  not  looking  cheerful 
enough.  You  are  troubled,  Natalushka,  or  you  would  not 
have  forgotten  to  thank  me  for  giving  you  the  only  treasure 
I  have  in  the  world." 

The  girl's  pale  face  flushed,  and  she  said,  quickly, 

"  There  are  some  things  that  are  not  to  be  expressed  in 
words,  Signer  Calabressa.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  think  of 
your  kindness  to  me." 

"  Silence  !  do  you  not  understand  my  joking  ?  Eh,  bien  ; 
let  us  understand  each  other.  Your  father  has  spoken  to  me 
— a  little,  not  much.  He  would  rather  have  an  end  to  the 
love  affair,  n'est  ce  pas  ?  " 

"  There  are  some  other  things  that  are  not  to  be  spoken  of," 
the  girl  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  somewhat  proudly. 

"  Natalushka,  I  will  not  have  you  answer  me  like  that.  It 
is  not  right.  If  you  knew  all  my  history,  perhaps  you  would 
understand  why  I  ask  you  questions — why  I  interfere — why 
you  think  me  impertiment — " 

"  Oh  no,  signore  ;  how  can  I  think  that  ?  " 

She  had  her  mother's  portrait  in  her  hand  ;  she  was  gaz- 
ing into  the  face  that  was  so  strangely  like  her  own. 

"  Then  why  not  answer  me  ?  " 

She  looked  up  with  a  quick,  almost  despairing  look. 

"  Because  I  try  not  to  think  about  it,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"  Because  I  try  to  think  only  of  my  work.  And  now,  Signor 
Calabressa,  you  have  given  me  something  else  to  think  about ; 
something  to  be  my  companion  when  I  am  alone  ;  and  from 
my  heart  I  thank  you." 

"  But  you  speak  as  if  you  were  in  great  grief,  my  little  one. 
It  is  not  all  over  between  you  and  your  lover  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  What  can  I  say  ?  "  she  exclaimed  ; 
and  for  a  moment  her  eyes  looked  up  with  the  appealing  look 
of  a  child.  "  He  does  not  write  to  me.  I  may  not  write  to 
him.  I  must  not  see  him." 

"  But  then  there  may  be  reasons  for  delay  and  considera- 
tion, little  Natalushka  ;  your  father  may  have  reasons.  And 
your  father  did  not  speak  to  me  as  if  it  were  altogether  im- 
possible. What  he  said  was,  in  effect,  *  We  will  see — we 
will  see.'  However,  let  us  return  to  the  important  point :  it 
ii 


162  SUNRISE. 

is  my  advice  to  you — you  cannot  have  forgotten  it — that  what- 
ever happens,  whatever  you  may  think,  do  not,  little  one,  seek 
to  go  against  your  father's  wishes.  You  will  promise  me 
that  ? " 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,  signore  ;  but  do  you  not  remember 
my  answer  ?  I  am  no  longer  a  child.  If  I  am  to  obey,  I 
must  have  reasons  for  obeying." 

"  What  ?  "  said  he  smiling.  "  And  you  know  that  one  of 
our  chief  principles  is  that  obedience  is  a  virtue  in  itself  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  your  association,  Signer  Calabressa." 

"  The  little  rebel !  " 

"  No,  no,  signore  ;  do  not  drive  me  into  a  false  position. 
I  cannot  understand  my  father,  who  has  always  been  so  kind 
to  me  ;  it  is  better  not  to  speak  of  it :  some  day,  when  you 
come  back,  Signore  Calabressa,  you  will  find  it  all  a  forgot- 
ten story.  Some  people  forget  so  readily ;  do  they  not  ? " 

The  trace  of  pathetic  bitterness  in  her  speech  did  not  es- 
cape him. 

"  My  child,"  said  he,  "  you  are  suffering ;  I  perceive  it. 
But  it  may  soon  be  over,  and  your  joy  will  be  all  the  greater. 
If  not,  if  the  future  has  trouble  for  you,  remember  what  I  have 
told  you.  Allans  done  !  Keep  up  a  brave  heart ;  but  I  need 
not  say  that  to  the  child  of  the  Berezolyis." 

He  rose,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  bell  was  heard  below. 

"  You  are  not  going,  Signore  Calabressa  ?  That  must  be 
my  father." 

"  Your  father !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  and  he  seemed  confused. 
Then  he  added,  quickly,  "  Ah,  very  well.  I  will  see  him  as 
I  go  down.  Our  business,  little  one,  is  finished  ;  is  it  not  ? 
Now  repeat  to  me  the  name  I  mentioned  to  you." 

"  Bartolotti  ?  " 

"  Excellent,  excellent !  And  you  will  keep  the  portrait 
from  every  one's  eyes  but  your  own.  Now,  farewell !  " 

He  took  her  two  hands  in  his. 

"  My  beautiful  child,"  said  he,  in  rather  a  trembling  voice, 
"  may  Heaven  keep  you  as  true  and  brave  as  your  mother 
was,  and  send  you  more  happiness.  I  may  not  see  England 
again — no,  it  is  not  likely  ;  but  in  after-years  you  may  some- 
times think  of  old  Calabressa,  and  remember  that  he  loved 
you  almost  as  he  once  loved  another  of  your  name." 

Surely  she  must  have  understood.  He  hurriedly  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead,  and  said,  "Adieu,  little  daughter  ! "  and 
left.  And  when  he  had  gone  she  sunk  into  the  chair  again, 
and  clasped  both  her  hands  round  her  mother's  portrait  and 
burst  into  tears. 


A   TALISMAN.  163 

Calabressa  made  his  way  down-stairs,  and,  at  the  foot,  ran 
against  Ferdinand  Lind. 

"  Ah,  amico  mio,"  said  he,  in  his  gay  manner.  "  See  now, 
we  have  been  bidding  our  adieux  to  the  little  Natalushka — 
the  rogue,  to  pretend  to  me  she  had  no  sweetheart !  Shall 
we  have  a  glass  of  wine,  mon  capitaine,  before  we  imbark  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Lind,  though  without  any  great  cordial- 
ity. "  Come  into  my  little  room." 

He  led  him  into  the  small  study,  and  presently  there  was 
wine  upon  the  table.  Calabressa  was  exceedingly  vivacious, 
and  a  little  difficult  to  follow,  especially  in  his  French.  But 
Lind  allowed  him  to  rattle  on,  until  by  accident  he  referred 
to  some  meeting  that  was  shortly  to  take  place  at  Posilipo. 

"  Well,  now,  Calabressa,"  said  Lind,  with  apparent  care- 
lessness, as  he  broke  oil  a  bit  of  biscuit  and  poured  out  a 
glass  of  wine  for  himself,  "  I  suppose  you  know  more  about 
the  opinions  of  the  Council  now  than  any  one  not  absolutely 
within  itself." 

"  I  am  a  humble  servant  only,  friend  Lind,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  breast  of  his  military-looking 
coat — "a  humble  servant  of  my  most  noble  masters.  But 
sometimes  one  hears — one  guesses — mats  a  quel  propos  cette 
question,  monsieur  mon  camarade  ?  " 

Lind  regarded  him  ;  and  said,  slowly, 

"You  know,  Calabressa,  that  some  seventeen  years  ago 
I  was  on  the  point  of  being  elected  a  member  of  the  Coun- 
cil." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  other,  with  a  little  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  You  know  why — though  you  do  not  know  the  right  or  the 
wrong  of  it — all  that  became  impossible." 

Calabressa  nodded.  It  was  delicate  ground,  and  he  was 
afraid  to  speak. 

"  Well,"  said  Lind,  "  I  ask  you  boldly — do  you  not  think  I 
have  done  enough  in  these  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  to 
reinstate  myself  ?  Who  else  has  done  a  tithe  of  the  work  I 
have  done  ?  " 

"  Friend  Lind,  I  think  that  is  well  understood  at  head-quar- 
ters." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Calabressa,  what  do  you  think  ?  Con- 
sider what  I  have  done  ;  consider  what  I  have  now  to  do — 
what  I  may  yet  do.  There  is  this  Zaccatelli  business.  I  do 
not  approve  of  it  myself.  I  think  it  is  a  mistake,  as  far  as 
England  is  concerned.  The  English  will  not  hear  of  assas- 
sination, even  though  it  is  such  a  criminal  as  the  cardinak 


164  SUNK1SE. 

affamatore  who  is  to  be  punished.  But  though  I  do  not  ap- 
prove, I  obey.  Some  one  from  the  English  section  will  ful- 
fil that  duty  :  it  is  something  to  be  considered.  Then  money ; 
think  of  the  money  I  have  contributed.  Without  English 
money  what  would  have  been  done  ?  when  there  is  any  new 
levy  wanted,  it  is  to  England — to  me — they  apply  first ;  and 
at  the  present  moment  their  cry  for  money  is  more  urgent 
than  ever.  Very  well,  then,  my  Calabressa ;  what  do  you 
think  of  all  this  ?  " 

Calabressa  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  Friend  Lind,  I  am  not  so  far  into  their  secrets  as  that. 
Being  in  prison  so  long,  one  loses  terms  of  familiarity  with 
many  of  one's  old  associates,  you  perceive.  But  your  claims 
are  undoubted,  my  friend  ;  yes,  yes,  undoubted." 

"  But  what  do  you  think,  Calabressa  ?  "  he  said  ;  and  that 
affectation  of  carelessness  had  now  gone  :  there  was  an 
eager  look  in  the  deep-set  eyes  under  the  bushy  eyebrows. 
"  What  do  you  yourself  think  of  my  chance  ?  It  ought  to  be 
no  chance  ;  it  ought  to  be  a  certainty.  It  is  my  due.  I 
claim  it  as  the  reward  of  my  sixteen  years'  work,  to  say 
nothing  of  what  went  before." 

"  Ah,  naturelkment,  sans  donte,  tu  as  rat's  on,  man  camarade" 
said  the  politic  Calabressa,  endeavoring  to  get  out  of  the^diffi- 
culty  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  *'  But — but — the  more 
one  knows  of  the  Council  the  more  one  fears  prying  into  its 
secrets.  No,  no  ;  I  do  what  I  am  told  ;  for  the  rest  my  ears 
are  closed." 

"  If  I  were  on  the  Council,  Calabressa,"  said  Lind,  slowly, 
"  you  would  be  treated  with  more  consideration.  You  have 
earned  as  much." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  friend  Lind,"  said  the  other ;  "  but  I 
have  no  more  ambitions  now.  The  time  for  that  is  past. 
Let  them  make  what  they  can  out  of  old  Calabressa — a  stick 
to  beat  a  dog  with  ;  as  long  as  I  have  my  liberty  and  a  cigar- 
ette, I  am  content." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Lind,  resuming  his  careless  air,  "  you  must 
not  imagine  I  am  seriously  troubled  because  the  Council  have 
not  as  yet  seen  fit  to  think  of  what  I  have  done  for  them.  I 
am  their  obedient  servant,  like  yourself.  Some  day,  perhaps, 
I  may  be  summoned." 

"A  la  bonne  henre!"  said  Calabressa,  rising.  "No,  no 
more  wine.  Your  port-wine  here  is  glorious — it  is  a  wine  for 
the  gods ;  but  a  very  little  is  enough  for  a  man.  So,  farewell, 
my  good  friend  Lind.  Be  kind  to  the  beautiful  Natalushka, 


AN  AL  TERN  A  TIVE.  1 63 

if  that  other  thing  that  I  spoke  of  is  impossible.  If  the  bounty 
of  Heaven  had  only  given  me  such  a  daughter  ! " 

"  Kirski  will  meet  you  at  the  station,"  said  Lind.  "  Char- 
ing Cross,  you  remember ;  eight  sharp.  The  train  is  8.25." 

"  I  will  be  there." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted  ;  the  door  was  shut.  Then, 
in  the  street  outside,  Calabressa  glanced  up  at  the  drawing- 
room  windows  just  for  a  second. 

"  Ah,  little  daughter,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  turned  away, 
"  you  do  not  know  the  power  of  the  talisman  I  have  given  you. 
But  you  will  not  use  it.  You  will  be  happy  ;  you  will  marry 
the  Englishman  ;  you  will  have  little  children  round  your 
knee  ;  and  you  will  lead  so  busy  and  glad  a  life,  year  after 
year,  that  you  will  never  have  a  minute  to  sit  down  and  think 
of  old  Calabressa,  or  of  the  stupid  little  map  of  Naples  he 
left  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AN   ALTERNATIVE. 

ONCE  again  the  same  great  city  held  these  two.  When 
George  Brand  looked  out  in  the  morning  on  the  broad  river, 
and  the  bridges,  and  the  hurrying  cabs  and  trains  and  steam- 
ers, he  knew  that  this  flood  of  dusky  sunshine  was  falling  also 
on  the  quieter  ways  of  Hyde  Park  and  semi-silent  thorough- 
fares adjoining.  They  were  in  the  same  city,  but  they  were 
far  apart.  An  invisible  barrier  separated  them.  It  was  not 
to  Curzon  Street  that  he  directed  his  steps  when  he  went  out 
into  the  still,  close  air  and  the  misty  sunlight. 

It  was  to  Lisle  Street  that  he  walked ;  and  all  the  way  he 
was  persuading  himself  to  follow  Calabressa's  advice.  He 
would  betray  no  impatience,  however  specious  Lind  might  be. 
He  would  shut  down  that  distrust  of  Natalie's  father  that  was 
continually  springing  up  in  his  mind.  He  would  be  consid- 
erate to  the  difficulties  of  his  position,  ready  to  admit  the  rea- 
sonableness of  his  arguments,  mindful  of  the  higher  duties  de- 
manded of  himself.  But  then — but  then — he  bethought  him 
of  that  evening  at  the  theatre  ;  he  remembered  what  she  had 
said  ;  how  she  had  looked.  He  was  not  going  to  give  up 
his  beautiful,  proud-natured  sweetheart  as  a  mere  matter  of 
expediency,  as  the  conclusion  of  a  clever  bit  of  argument. 

When  he  entered  Mr.  Lind's  room  he  found  Heinrich 
Reitzei  its  sole  occupant.  Lind  had  not  yet  arrived  ;  the  pal- 


166  SUNKISE. 

lid-faced  young  man  with  the  pince-nez  was  in  possession  of  his 
chair.  And  no  sooner  had  George  Brand  made  his  appear- 
ance than  Reitzei  rose,  and,  with  a  significant  smile,  motioned 
the  new-comer  to  take  the  vacant  seat  he  had  just  quitted. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  Brand  said,  naturally  taking 
another  chair,  which  was  much  nearer  him. 

"  Will  you  not  soon  be  occupying  this  seat  en  permanence  ?  " 
Reitzei  said,  with  affected  nonchalance. 

"  Lind  has  abdicated,  then,  I  presume,"  said  Brand,  coldly  : 
this  young  man's  manner  had  never  been  very  grateful  to 
him. 

Reitzei  sunk  into  the  seat  again,  and  twirled  at  his  little 
black  waxed  mustache. 

"  Abdicated  ?  No  ;  not  yet,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence. "  But  if  one  were  to  be  translated  to  a  higher  sphere  ? 
— there  is  a  vacancy  in  the  Council." 

"Then  he  would  have  to  live  abroad,"  said  Brand,  quickly. 

The  younger  man  did  not  fail  to  observe  this  eagerness,  and 
no  doubt  attributed  it  to  a  wrong  cause.  It  was  no  sudden 
hope  of  succeeding  to  Lind's  position  that  prompted  the  ex- 
clamation ;  it  was  the  possibility  of  Natalie  being  carried  away 
from  England. 

"  He  would  have  to  live  in  the  place  called  nowhere,"  said 
Reitzei,  with  a  calm  smile.  "He  would  have  to  live  in  the 
dark — in  the  middle  of  the  night — everywhere  and  nowhere 
at  the  same  moment." 

Brand  was  on  the  point  of  asking  what  would  then  become 
of  Natalie,  but  he  forbore.  He  changed  the  subject  alto- 
gether. 

"  How  is  that  mad  Russian  fellow  getting  on — Kirski  ? 
Still  working?" 

"  Yes ;  at  another  kind  of  work.  Calabressa  has  under- 
taken to  turn  his  vehemence  into  a  proper  channel — to  let  off 
the  steam,  as  it  were,  in  another  direction." 

"  Calabressa  ? " 

"  Kirski  has  become  the  humble  disciple  of  Calabressa,  and 
has  gone  to  Genoa  with  him." 

"  What  folly  is  this  !  "  Brand  said.  "  Have  you  admitted 
that  maniac  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  such  force  was  not  to  be  wasted." 

"  A  pretty  disciple  !  How  much  Russian  does  Calabressa 
know  ?  " 

"  Gathorne  Edwards  is  with  them  ;  it  is  some  special  busi- 
ness. Both  Calabressa  and  Kirski  will  be  capital  linguists 
before  it  is  over." 


AN  AL  TERN  A  TIVE.  167 

"  But  how  has  Edwards  got  leave  again  from  the  British 
Museum  ?  " 

Reitzei  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  believe  Lind  wants  to  buy  him  over  altogether.  We 
could  pay  him  more  than  the  British  Museum." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  sound  outside  of  some  one  as- 
cending the  stair,  and  directly  afterward  Mr.  Lind  entered 
the  room.  As  he  came  in  Reitzei  left. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Brand  ?  "  Lind  said,  shaking  his  vis- 
itor's hand  with  great  warmth.  "  Very  glad  to  see  you  look- 
ing so  well ;  hard  work  does  not  hurt  you,  clearly.  I  hope  I 
have  not  incommoded  you  in  asking  you  to  run  up  to  Lon- 
don ? " 

"Not  at  all,"  Brand  said.  "  Molyneux  came  up  with  me 
last  night." 

"  Ah  !     You  have  gained  him  over  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  Again  I  congratulate  you.  Well,  now,  since  we  have  be- 
gun upon  business,  let  us  continue  upon  business." 

He  settled  himself  in  his  chair,  as  if  for  some  serious  talk. 
Brand  could  not  help  being  struck  by  the  brisk,  vivacious, 
energetic  look  of  this  man  ;  and  on  this  morning  he  was  even 
more  than  usually  smartly  dressed.  Was  it  his  daughter  who 
had  put  that  flower  in  his  button-hole  ? 

"  I  will  speak  frankly  to  you,  and  as  clear  as  I  can  in  my 
poor  English.  You  must  let  me  say,  without  flattery,  that 
we  are  all  veiy  indebted  to  you — very  proud  of  you  ;  we  are 
glad  to  have  you  with  us.  And  now  that  you  see  farther  and 
farther  about  our  work,  I  trust  you  are  not  disappointed. 
You  understand  at  the  outset  you  must  take  so  much  on 
trust." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  disappointed  ;  quite  the  reverse," 
Brand  said  ;  and  he  remembered  Calabressa,  and  spoke  in  as 
friendly  a  way  as  possible.  "  Indeed,  many  a  time  I  am  sorry 
one  cannot  explain  more  fully  to  those  who  are  only  inquir- 
ing. If  they  could  only  see  at  once  all  that  is  going  on,  they 
would  have  no  more  doubt.  And  it  is  slow  work  with  some 
of  them." 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  no  doubt.  Well,  to  return,  if  you  please  : 
it  is  a  satisfaction  you  are  not  disappointed  ;  that  you  believe 
we  are  doing  a  good  work  ;  that  you  go  with  us.  Very  well. 
You  have  advanced  grade  by  grade  ;  you  see  nothing  to  re- 
pent of ;  why  not  take  the  final  step  ?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  he  said,  doubtfully. 

"  I  will  explain.     You  have  given  yourself  to  us — your  time, 


1 68  SUNRISE. 

your  labor,  your  future  ;  but  the  final  step  of  self-sacrifice — 
is  it  so  very  difficult  ?  In  many  cases  it  is  merely  a  challenge  : 
we  say,  '  Show  that  you  can  trust  us  even  for  your  very  liveli- 
hood. Become  absolutely  dependent  on  us,  even  for  your  food, 
your  drink,  your  clothes.'  In  your  case,  I  admit,  it  is  some- 
thing more  :  it  is  an  invitation  to  a  very  considerable  self-sac- 
rifice. All  the  more  proof  that  you  are  not  afraid." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  am  afraid,"  said  Brand,  slowly ;  "  but — " 

"  One  moment.  The  affair  is  simple.  The  officers  of  our 
society — those  who  govern — those  from  whom  are  chosen  the 
members  of  the  Council — that  Council  that  is  more  powerful 
than  any  government  in  Europe — those  officers,  I  say,  are 
required  first  of  all  to  surrender  every  farthing  of  personal 
property,  so  that  they  shall  become  absolutely  dependent  on 
the  Society  itself — " 

Brand  looked  a  trifle  bewildered :  more  than  that,  resent- 
ful and  indignant,  as  if  his  common-sense  had  received  a 
shock. 

"  It  is  a  necessary  condition,"  Lind  continued,  without 
eagerness — rather  as  if  he  were  merely  enunciating  a  theory. 
"  It  insures  absolute  equality ;  it  is  a  proof  of  faith.  And 
you  may  perceive  that,  as  I  am  alive,  they  do  not  allow  one 
to  starve." 

The  slight  smile  that  accompanied  this  remark  was  meant 
to  be  reassuring.  Certainly,  Mr.  Lind  did  not  starve  ;  if  the 
society  of  which  he  was  a  member  enabled  him  to  live  as  he 
did  in  Curzon  Street,  he  had  little  to  complain  of. 

"  You  mean,"  said  George  Brand,  "  that  before  I  enter  this 
highest  grade,  next  to  the  Council,  I  must  absolutely  surren- 
der my  entire  fortune  to  you  ?  " 

"To  the  common  fund  of  the  Society — yes,"  was  the  reply; 
uttered  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  But  there  is  no  compulsion  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  On  this  point  every  one  is  free.  You 
may  remain  in  your  present  grade  if  you  please." 

"  Then  I  confess  to  you  I  don't  see  why  I  should  change," 
Brand  said,  frankly.  "  Cannot  I  work  as  well  for  you  just 
as  I  am  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  ;  perhaps  not,"  said  the  other,  easily.  "  But 
you  perceive,  further,  that  the  fact  of  our  not  exacting  sub- 
scriptions from  the  poorer  members  of  our  association  makes 
it  all  the  more  necessary  that  we  should  have  voluntary  gifts 
from  the  richer.  And  as  regards  a  surplus  of  wealth,  of 
what  use  is  that  to  any  one  ?  Am  I  not  granted  as  much 
money  as  one  need  reasonably  want  ?  And  just  now  there 


AN  ALTERNATIVE.  169 

is  more  than  ever  a  need  of  money  for  the  general  purposes 
of  the  Society  :  Lord  Evelyn  gave  us  a  thousand  pounds  last 
week." 

Brand  flushed  red. 

"  I  wish  you  had  told  me,"  he  said  ;  "  I  would  rather  have 
given  you  five  thousand.  You  know  he  cannot  afford  it." 

"  The  greater  the  merit  of  the  sacrifice,"  said  his  compan- 
ion calmly. 

This  proposal  was  so  audacious  that  George  Brand  was 
still  a  little  bewildered  ;  but  the  fact  was  that,  while  listening 
very  respectfully  to  Mr.  Lind,  he  had  been  thinking  more 
about  Natalie  ;  and  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  that  some  th'ought  of  her  should  now  intervene. 

"  Another  thing,  Mr.  Lind,"  said  he,  though  he  was  rather 
embarrassed.  "  Even  if  I  were  to  make  such  a  sacrifice,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned ;  if  I  were  to  run  the  risk  for  myself 
alone,  that  might  all  be  very  well ;  but  supposing  I  were  to 
marry,  do  you  think  I  should  like  my  wife  to  run  such  a  risk 
— do  you  think  I  should  be  justified  in  allowing  her  ?  And 
surely  you  ought  not  to  ask  me.  It  is  your  own  daughter — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  the  other,  blandly  but 
firmly.  "  We  will  restrict  ourselves  to  business  at  the  pres- 
ent moment,  if  you  will  be  so  kind.  I  wrote  to  you  all  that 
occurred  to  me  when  I  had  to  consider  your  very  flattering 
proposal  with  regard  to  my  daughter ;  I  may  now  add  that, 
if  any  thought  of  her  interfered  with  your  decision  in  this 
matter,  I  should  still  further  regret  that  you  had  ever  met." 

"  You  do  not  take  the  view  a  father  would  naturally  take 
about  the  future  of  his  own  daughter,"  said  Brand,  bluntly. 

Lind  was  not  in  the  least  moved  by  this  taunt. 

"  I  should  allow  neither  the  interests  of  my  daughter  nor 
my  own  interests  to  interfere  with  my  sense  of  duty,"  said 
he.  "  Do  you  know  me  so  little  ?  Do  you  know  her  so 
little  ?  Ah,  then  you  have  much  to  learn  of  her  !  " 

Lind  looked  at  him  for  a  second  or  two,  and  added,  with  a 
slight  smile, 

"  If  you  decide  to  say  no,  be  sure  I  will  not  say  a  word  of 
it  to  her.  No ;  I  will  still  leave  the  child  her  hero  in  her 
imagination.  For  when  I  said  to  her,  *  Natalie,  an  English- 
man will  do  a  good  deal  for  the  good  of  the  people — he  will 
give  you  his  sympathy,  his  advice,  his  time,  his  labor — but 
he  will  not  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket ; '  then  she  said,  *  Ah, 
but  you  do  not  understand  Mr.  Brand  yet,  papa ;  he  is  with 
us ;  he  is  not  one  to  go  back/  " 


170 

"  But  this  abandonment  of  one's  property  is  so  dispropor- 
tionate in  different  cases — " 

"  The  greater  the  sacrifice,  the  greater  the  merit,"  re- 
turned the  other  :  then  he  immediately  added,  "  But  do  not 
imagine  I  am  seeking  to  persuade  you.  I  place  before  you 
the  condition  on  which  you  may  go  forward  and  attain  the 
highest  rank,  ultimately  perhaps  the  greatest  power,  in  this 
organization.  Ah,  you  do  not  understand  what  that  is  as 
yet.  If  you  knew,  you  would  not  hesitate  very  long,  I  think." 

"  But — but  suppose  I  have  no  great  ambition,"  Brand  re- 
monstrated. "  Suppose  I  am  quite  content  to  go  on  doing 
what  I  can  in  my  present  sphere  ? " 

"  You  have  already  sworn  to  do  your  utmost  in  every 
direction.  On  this  one  point  of  money,  however,  the  various 
Councils  have  never  departed  from  the  principle  that  there 
must  be  no  compulsion.  On  any  other  point  the  Council 
orders  ;  you  obey.  On  this  point  the  voluntary  sacrifice  has, 
as  I  say,  all  the  more  merit ;  and  it  is  not  forgotten.  For 
what  are  you  doing  ?  You  are  yielding  up  a  superabundance 
that  you  cannot  use,  so  that  thousands  and  thousands  of  the 
poor  throughout  the  world  may  not  be  called  on  to  contribute 
their  pence.  You  are  giving  the  final  proof  of  your  devotion. 
You  are  taking  the  vow  of  poverty  and  dependence,  which 
many  of  the  noblest  brotherhoods  the  world  has  seen  have 
exacted  from  their  members  at  the  very  outset ;  but  in  your 
case  with  the  difference  that  you  can  absolutely  trust  to  the 
resources  of  an  immense  association — " 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  Brand  said,  quickly. 
"  But  I  ask  you  whether  I  should  be  justified  in  throwing 
away  this  power  to  protect  others.  May  I  appeal  to  Natalie 
herself  ?  May  I  ask  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  the  other,  with  the  same 
mild  firmness,  "  I  must  request  you  in  the  meantime  to  leave 
Natalie  out  of  consideration  altogether.  This  is  a  question 
of  duty,  of  principle  ;  it  must  regulate  our  future  relations 
with  each  other  ;  pray  let  it  stand  by  itself." 

Brand  sat  silent  for  a  time.  There  were  many  things  to 
think  over.  He  recalled,  for  example,  though  vaguely,  a 
conversation  he  had  once  had  with  Lord  Evelyn,  in  which 
this  very  question  of  money  was  discussed,  and  in  which  he 
had  said  that  he  would  above  all  things  make  sure  he  was 
not  being  duped.  Moreover,  he  had  intended  that  his  prop- 
erty, in  the  event  of  his  dying  unmarried,  should  go  to  his 
nephews.  But  it  was  not  his  sister's  boys  who  were  now  up- 
permost in  his  mind. 


AN  AL  TERN  A  TIVE.  1 7 1 

He  rose. 

"  You  cannot  expect  me  to  give  you  a  definite  answer  at 
once,"  he  said,  almost  absently. 

"  No ;  before  you  go,  let  me  add  this,"  said  the  other, 
regarding  his  companion  with  a  watchful  look  :  "  the  Council 
are  not  only  in  urgent  need  of  liberal  funds  just  now,  but 
also,  in  several  directions,  of  diligent  and  exceptional  service. 
The  money  contribution  which  they  demand  from  England  I 
shall  be  able  to  meet  somehow,  no  doubt ;  hitherto  I  have 
not  failed  them.  The  claim  for  service  shall  not  find  us 
wanting,  either,  I  hope ;  and  it  has  been  represented  to  me 
that  perhaps  you  ought  to  be  transferred  to  Philadelphia, 
where  there  is  much  to  be  done  at  the  present  moment." 

This  suggestion  effectually  awoke  Brand  from  his  day- 
dream. 

"  Philadelphia !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  speaking  very  slowly,  as  if  anxious 
that  every  word  should  have  weight.  "  My  visit,  short  as  it 
was,  enabled  me  to  see  how  well  one  might  employ  one's 
whole  lifetime  there — with  such  results  as  would  astonish  our 
good  friends  at  head-quarters,  I  am  sure  of  that.  True,  the 
parting  from  one's  country  might  be  a  little  painful  at  first ; 
but  that  is  not  the  greatest  of  the  sacrifices  that  one  should 
be  prepared  to  submit  to.  However,"  he  added,  rather  more 
lightly,  "  this  is  still  to  be  decided  on  ;  meanwhile  I  hope, 
and  I  am  sure  you  hope  too,  Mr.  Brand,  that  I  shall  be  able 
to  satisfy  the  Council  that  the  English  section  does  not  draw 
back  when  called  on  for  its  services." 

"  No  doubt — no  doubt,"  Brand  said ;  but  the  pointed  way 
in  which  his  companion  had  spoken  did  not  escape  him,  and 
promised  to  afford  him  still  further  food  for  reflection. 

But  if  this  was  a  threat,  he  would  show  no  fear. 

"  Molyneux  wishes  to  get  back  North  as  soon  as  possible," 
he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  just  as  if  talking  of  common- 
place affairs  the  whole  time.  "  I  suppose  his  initiation  could 
take  place  to-morrow  night  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  following  his  visitor  to  the 
door.  "  And  you  must  certainly  allow  me  to  thank  you  once 
more,  my  dear  Mr.  Brand,  for  your  service  in  securing  to  us 
such  an  ally.  I  should  like  to  have  talked  with  you  about 
your  experiences  in  the  North  ;  but  you  agree  with  me  that 
the  suggestion  I  have  made  demands  your  serious  considera- 
tion first — is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Brand  nodded 


"  I  will  let  you  know  to-morrow,"  said  he.  "Good-morn- 
ing !  " 

"  Good-morning  !  "  said  Mr.  Lind,  pleasantly  ;  and  then  the 
door  was  shut. 

He  was  attended  down-stairs  by  the  stout  old  German, 
who,  on  reaching  the  front-door,  drew  forth  a  letter  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  it  to  him  with  much  pretence  of  mystery. 
He  was  thinking  of  other  things,  to  tell  the  truth ;  and  as  he 
walked  along  he  regarded  the  outside  of  the  envelope  with 
but  little  curiosity.  It  was  addressed,  "  Air  Egregio  Sigmore^ 
II Signor  G.  Brand" 

"  No  doubt  a  begging  letter  from  some  Leicester  Square 
fellow,"  he  thought, 

Presently,  however,  he  opened  the  letter,  and  read  the  fol- 
lowing message,  which  was  also  in  Italian  : 

"  The  beautiful  caged  little  bird  sighs  and  weeps,  because 
she  thinks  she  is  forgotten.  A  word  of  remembrance  would 
be  kind,  if  her  friend  is  discreet  and  secret.  Above  all,  no 
open  strife.  This  from  one  who  departs.  Farewell !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE. 

THIS  must  be  said  for  George  Brand,  that  while  he  was 
hard  and  unsympathetic  in  the  presence  of  those  whom  he 
disliked  or  distrusted,  in  the  society  of  those  whom  he  did 
like  and  did  trust  he  was  docile  and  acquiescent  as  a  child, 
easily  led  and  easily  persuaded.  When  he  went  from  Lind's 
chamber,  which  had  been  to  him  full  of  an  atmosphere  of  im- 
patience and  antagonism,  to  Lord  Evelyn's  study,  and  found 
his  friend  sitting  reading  there,  his  whole  attitude  changed ; 
and  his  first  duty  was  to  utter  a  series  of  remonstrances  about 
the  thousand  pounds. 

"  You  can't  afford  it,  Evelyn.  Why  didn't  you  come  to  me  ? 
I  would  have  given  it  to  you  a  dozen  times  over  rather  than 
you  should  have  paid  it." 

"  No  doubt  you  would,"  said  the  pale  lad.  "  That  is  why 
I  did  not  come  to  you." 

"  I  wish  you  could  get  it  back." 

"  I  would  not  take  it  back.  It  is  little  enough  I  can  do  ; 
why  not  let  me  give  such  help  as  I  can  ?  If  only  those  girls 
would  begin  to  marry  off,  I  might  do  more.  But  there  is  such 
a  band  of  them  that  men  are  afraid  to  come  near  them." 


A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE.  173 

"  I  think  it  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  the  group,"  said  Brand. 
"The  country  should  subscribe  to  keep  them  as  they  are — 
the  perfect  picture  of  an  English  family.  However,  to  return  : 
you  must  promise  me  not  to  commit  any  of  these  extravagances 
again.  If  any  appeal  is  made  to  you,  come  to  me." 

But  here  a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him; 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  Line!  is 
trying  to  get  me  to  enter  the  same  grade  of  officership  with 
himself.  And  do  you  know  what  the  first  qualification  is  ?— 
that  you  give  up  every  penny  you  possess  in  the  world." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Well ! " 

The  two  friends  stared  at  each  other — the  one  calmly  in- 
quisitive, the  other  astounded. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  burst  out  laughing  !  "  Brand 
exclaimed. 

"Why?"  said  the  other.  "  You  have  already  done  more 
for  them — for  us — than  th$.t :  why  should  you  not  do  all  in 
your  power  ?  Why  should  you  not  do  all  that  you  can,  and 
while  you  can  ?  Look  !  " 

They  were  standing  at  the  window.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  street  far  below  them  were  some  funeral  carriages  ;  at 
this  precise  moment  the  coffin  was  being  carried  across  the 
pavement. 

"  That  is  the  end  of  it.  I  say,  why  shouldn't  you  do  all 
that  you  can,  and  while  you  can  ? " 

"  Do  you  want  reasons  ?  Well,  one  has  occurred  to  me 
since  I  came  into  this  room.  A  minute  ago  I  said  to  you 
that  you  must  not  repeat  that  extravagance  ;  and  I  said  if  you 
were  appealed  to  again  you  could  come  to  me.  But  what  if 
I  had  already  surrendered  every  penny  in  the  world  ?  I  wish 
to  retain  in  my  own  hands  at  least  the  power  to  help  my 
friends." 

"  That  is  only  another  form  of  selfishness,"  said  Lord  Eve- 
lyn, laughing.  "  I  fear  you  are  as  yet  of  weak  faith,  Brand." 

He  turned  from  the  light,  and  went  and  sunk  into  the 
shadow  of  a  great  arm-chair. 

"  Now  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  do,  Evelyn,"  said  his 
friend.  You  are  going  to  talk  me  out  of  my  common-sense  ; 
and  I  will  not  have  it.  I  want  to  show  you  why  it  is  impossi- 
ble I  should  agree  to  this  demand." 

"  If  you  feel  it  to  be  impossible,  it  is  impossible." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  is  it  reasonable  ?  " 

"  I  dislike  things  that  are  reasonable." 


174  SUNRISE. 

"  There  is  but  one  way  of  getting  at  you.  Have  you 
thought  of  Natalie  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  other,  quickly  raising  himself  into  an  ex- 
pectant attitude. 

"  You  will  listen  now,  I  suppose,  to  reason,  to  common- 
sense.  Do  you  think  it  likely  that,  with  the  possibility  of  her 
becoming  my  wife,  I  am  going  to  throw  away  this  certainty 
and  leave  her  to  all  chances  of  the  world  ?  Lind  says  that 
the  Society  amply  provides  for  its  officers.  Very  well ;  that 
is  quite  probable.  I  tell  him  that  I  am  not  afraid  for  myself  ;  if 
I  had  to  think  of  myself  alone,  there  is  no  saying  what  I  might 
not  do,  even  if  I  were  to  laugh  at  myself  for  doing  it.  But 
how  about  Natalie  ?  Lind  might  die.  I  might  be  sent  away 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  leave 
her  at  the  mercy  of  a  lot  of  people  whom  she  never  saw  ?  " 

Lord  Evelyn  was  silent. 

"  Besides,  there  is  more  than  that,"  his  friend  continued, 
warmly.  "  You  may  call  it  selfishness,  if  you  like,  but  if  you 
love  a  woman  and  she  gives  her  life  into  your  hands — well, 
she  has  the  first  claim  on  you.  I  will  put  it  to  you  :  do  you 
think  I  am  going  to  sell  the  Beeches — -when — when  she 
might  live  there  ?  " 

Lord  Evelyn  did  not  answer. 

"  Of  course  I  am  willing  to  subscribe  largely,"  his  friend 
continued ;  "  and  Natalie,  herself  would  say  yes  to  that.  But 
I  am  not  ambitious.  I  don't  want  to  enter  that  grade.  I 
don't  want  to  sit  in  Lind's  chair  when  he  gets  elected  to  the 
Council,  as  has  been  suggested  to  me.  I  am  not  qualified 
for  it ;  I  don't  care  about  it ;  I  can  best  do  my  own  work  in 
my  own  way." 

At  last  Lord  Evelyn  spoke ;  but  it  was  in  a  meditative  fash- 
ion, and  not  very  much  to  the  point.  He  lay  back  in  his 
easy-chair,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  and  talked ; 
and  his  talk  was  not  at  all  about  the  selling  of  Hill  Beeches 
in  Buckinghamshire,  but  of  much  more  abstract  matters.  He 
spoke  of  the  divine  wrath  of  the  reformer — what  a  curious 
thing  it  was,  that  fiery  impatience  with  what  was  wrong  in  the 
world ;  how  it  cropped  up  here  and  there  from  time  to  time  ; 
and  how  one  abuse  after  another  had  been  burnt  up  by  it  and 
swept  away  forever.  Give  the  man  possessed  of  this  holy  rage 
all  the  beauty  and  wealth  and  ease  in  the  world,  and  he  is 
not  satisfied ;  there  is  something  within  him  that  vibrates  to 
the  call  of  humanity  without ;  others  can  pass  by  what  does 
not  affect  themselves  with  a  laugh  or  a  shrug  of  indifference  ; 
he  only  must  stay  and  labor  till  the  wrong  thing  is  put  right. 


A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE.  175 

And  how  often  had  he  been  jeered  at  by  the  vulgar  of  his 
time  ;  how  Common-Sense  had  pointed  the  finger  of  scorn  at 
him ;  how  Respectability  had  called  him  crazed  !  John  Brown 
at  Harper's  Ferry  is  only  a  ridiculous  old  fool ;  his  effort  is 
absurd  ;  even  gentlemen  in  the  North  feel  an  "  intellectual 
satisfaction  "  that  he  is  hanged,  because  of  his  "  preposterous 
miscalculation  of  possibilities."  Yes,  no  doubt ;  you  hang 
him,  and  there  is  an  end ;  but "  his  soul  goes  marching  on,"  and 
the  slaves  are  freed  !  You  want  to  abolish  the  Corn-laws  ? 
— all  good  society  shrieks  at  you  at  first :  you  are  a  Radical, 
a  regicide,  a  Judas  Iscariot ;  but  in  time  the  nation  listens, 
and  the  poor  have  cheap  bread.  "  Mazzini  is  mad  ! "  the 
world  cries  :  "  why  this  useless  bloodshed  ?  It  is  only  political 
murder."  Mazzini  is  mad,  no  doubt ;  but  in  time  the  beauti- 
ful dream  of  Italy — of  "  Italia,  the  world's  wonder,  the  world's 
care  » — comes  true.  And  what  matter  to  the  reformer,  the 
agitator,  the  dreamer,  though  you  stone  him  to  death,  or  throw 
him  to  the  lions,  or  clap  him  into  a  nineteenth-century  prison 
and  shut  his  mouth  that  way  ?  He  has  handed  on  the  sacred 
fire.  Others  will  bear  the  torch ;  and  he  who  is  unencum- 
bered will  outstrip  his  fellows.  The  wrong  must  be  put  right. 

And  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  Brand  sat  and  listened,  recog- 
nizing here  and  there  a  proud,  pathetic  phrase  of  Natalie's, 
and  knowing  well  whence  the  inspiration  came  ;  and  as  he 
listened  he  almost  felt  as  though  that  beautiful  old  place  in 
Buckinghamshire  was  slipping  through  his  fingers.  The  sac- 
rifice seemed  to  be  becoming  less  and  less  of  a  sacrifice  ;  it 
took  more  and  more  the  form  of  a  duty  ;  would  Natalie's  eyes 
smile  approval  ? 

Brand  jumped  up,  and  took  a  rapid  turn  or  two  up  and 
down  the  room. 

"  I  won't  listen  to  you,  Evelyn.  You  don't  know  anything 
about  money-matters.  You  care  for  nothing  but  ideas.  Now, 
I  come  of  a  commercial  stock,  and  I  want  to  know  what 
guarantee  I  have  that  this  money,  if  I  were  to  give  it  up, 
would  be  properly  applied.  Lind's  assurances  are  all  very 
well—" 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course  ;  you  have  got  back  to  Lind,"  said 
Lord  Evelyn,  waking  up  "from  his  reveries.  Do  you  know, 
my  dear  fellow,  that  your  distrust  of  Lind  is  rapidly  develop- 
ing into  a  sharp  and  profound  hatred  ? " 

"  I  take  men  as  I  find  them.  Perhaps  you  can  explain  to 
me  how  Lind  should  care  so  little  for  the  future  of  his 
daughter  as  to  propose — with  the  possibility  of  our  marrying 
— that  she  should  be  left  penniless  ? " 


1 76  SUNRISE. 

"  I  can  explain  it  to  myself,  but  not  to  you ;  you  are  too 
thorough  an  Englishman.'' 

"  Are  you  a  foreigner  ? " 

"  I  try  to  understand  those  who  are  not  English.  Now, 
an  Englishman's  theory  is  that  he  himself,  and  his  wife  and 
children — his  domestic  circle,  in  fact — are  the  centre  of 
creation ;  and  that  the  fate  of  empires,  as  he  finds  that  going 
one  way  or  the  other  in  the  telegrams  of  the  morning  paper, 
is  a  very  small  matter  compared  with  the  necessity  of  Tom's 
going  to  Eton,  or  Dick's  marrying  and  settling  down  as  the 
bailiff  of  the  Worcestershire  farm.  That  is  all  very  well ;  but 
other  people  may  be  of  a  different  habit  of  mind.  Lincl's 
heart  and  soul  are  in  his  present  work  ;  he  would  sacrifice 
himself,  his  daughter,  you,  or  anybody  else  to  it,  and  con- 
sider himself  amply  justified.  He  does  not  care  about 
money,  or  horses,  or  the  luxury  of  a  big  establishment ;  I 
suppose  he  has  had  to  live  on  simple  fare  many  a  time, 
whether  he  liked  it  or  not,  and  can  put  up  with  whatever 
happens.  If  you  imagine  that  you  may  be  cheated  by  a  por- 
tion of  your  money — supposing  you  were  to  adopt  his  pro- 
posal— going  into  his  pocket  as  commission,  you  do  him  a 
wrong." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  that,"  Brand  said,  rather  unwillingly. 
"  I  don't  take  him  to  be  a  common  and  vulgar  swindler. 
And  I  can  very  well  believe  that  he  does  not  care  very  much 
for  money  or  luxury  or  that  kind  of  thing,  so  far  as  he  himself 
is  concerned.  Still,  you  would  think  that  the  ordinary 
instinct  of  a  father  would  prevent  his  doing  an  injury  to  the 
future  of  his  daughter — " 

"Would  he  consider  it  an  injury.     Would  she  ?" 

"  Well,  Brand  said,  "  she  is  very  enthusiastic,  and  noble, 
and  generous,  and  does  not  know  what  dependence  or 
poverty  means.  But  he  is  a  man  of  the  world,  and  you 
would  think  he  would  look  after  his  own  kith  and  kin." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  wholesome  conservative  English  sentiment, 
but  it  does  not  rule  the  actions  of  everybody." 

"  But  common  sense — " 

"  Oh,  bother  common  sense  !  Common-sense  is  only  a 
grocer  that  hasn't  got  an  idea  beyond  ham-and-eggs." 

"  Well,  if  I  am  only  a  grocer,"  Brand  said,  quite  submis- 
sively, "  don't  you  think  the  grocer,  if  he  were  asked  to  pay 
off  the  National  Debt,  ought  to  say,  '  Gentlemen,  that  is  a 
praiseworthy  object;  but  in  the  meantime  wouldn't  it  be 
advisable  for  me  to  make  sure  that  my  wife  mayn't  have  to 
go  on  the  parish  ?  " 


A  FRIEND'S  ADVICE.  177 

Thereafter  there  was  silence  for  a  time,  and  when  Brand 
next  spoke  it  was  in  a  certain,  precise,  hard  fashion,  as  if  he 
wished  to  make  his  meaning  very  clear. 

"  Suppose,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  I  were  to  tell  you  what  has 
occurred  to  me  as  the  probable  explanation  of  Lind's  in- 
difference about  the  future  of  his  daughter,  would  you  be 
surprised  ? " 

"  I  expect  it  will  be  wrong,  for  you  cannot  do  justice  to 
that  man  ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  it." 

"  I  must  tell  you  he  wrote  me  a  letter,  a  shilly-shallying 
sort  of  letter,  filled  with  arguments  to  prove  that  a  marriage 
between  Natalie  and  myself  would  not  be  expedient,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it :  not  absolutely  refusing  his  consent,  you  under- 
stand, but  postponing  the  matter,  and  hoping  that  on  further 
reflection,  et  caetera,  et  caetera.  Well,  do  you  know  what  my 
conclusion  is  ? — that  he  is  definitely  resolved  I  shall  not  mar- 
ry his  daughter;  and  that  he  is  playing  with  me,  humbugging 
me  with  the  possibility  of  marrying  her,  until  he  induces  me 
to  hand  him  over  my  fortune  for  the  use  of  the  Society. 
Stare  away  as  you  like  ;  that  is  what  I  believe  to  be  true." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out. 

Well,  Evelyn,  whatever  happens,  I  have  to  thank  you  for 
many  things.  It  has  been  all  like  my  boyhood  come  back 
again,  but  much  more  wonderful  and  beautiful.  If  I  have  to 
go  to  America,  I  shall  take  with  me  at  least  the  memory  of 
one  night  at  Covent  Garden.  She  was  there — and  Madame 
Potecki — and  old  Calabressa.  It  was  Fidelia  they  were  play- 
ing. She  gave  me  some  forget-me-nots." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  going  to  America  ?  "  Lord  Evelyn 
said. 

Brand  remained  at  the  window  for  a  minute  or  two,  silent, 
and  then  he  returned  to  his  chair. 

"  You  will  say  I  am  unjust  again.  But  unless  I  am  incapa- 
ble of  understanding  English — such  English  as  he  speaks — 
this  is  his  ultimatum  :  that  unless  I  give  my  property,  every 
cent  of  it,  over  to  the  Society,  I  am  to  go  to  America.  It  is 
a  distinct  and  positive  threat." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  !  "  the  other  remonstrated.  "  He  has 
just  been  to  America  himself,  without  any  compulsion  what- 
ever." 

"  He  has  been  to  America  for  a  certain  number  of  weeks. 
I  am  to  go  for  life — and,  as  he  imagines,  alone." 

His  face  had  been  growing  darker  and  darker,  the  brov/s 
lowering  ominously  over  the  eyes. 

"  Now,  Brand,"  his  friend  said,  "  you  are  letting  your  dis- 

12 


178  .       SUNRISE. 

trust  of  this  man  Lind  become  a  madness.  What  if  he  were 
to  say  to-morrow  that  ycu  might  marry  Natalie  the  day 
after  ? " 

The  other  looked  up  almost  bewildered. 

"  I  would  say  he  was  serving  some  purpose  of  his  own. 
But  he  will  not  say  that.  He  means  to  keep  his  daughter  to 
himself,  and  he  means  to  have  my  money." 

"  Why,  you  admitted,  a  minute  ago,  that  even  you  could 
not  suspect  him  of  that ! " 

"  Not  for  himself — no.  Probably  he  does  not  care  for 
money.  But  he  cares  for  ambition — for  power  ;  and  there  is 
a  vacancy  in  the  Council.  Don't  you  see  ?  This  would  be 
a  tremendous  large  sum  in  the  eyes  of  a  lot  of  foreigners  : 
they  would  be  grateful,  would  they  not  ?  And  Natalie  once 
transferred  to  Italy,  I  could  console  myself  with  the  honor 
and  dignity  of  Lind's  chair  in  Lisle  Street.  Don't  you 
perceive  ? " 

"  I  perceive  this — that  you  misjudge  Lind  altogether.  I 
am  sure  of  it.  I  have  seen  it  from  the  beginning — from  the 
moment  you  set  your  foot  in  his  house.  And  you  tried  to 
blind  yourself  to  the  fact  because  of  Natalie.  Now  that  you 
imagine  that  he  means  to  take  Natalie  from  you,  all  your 
pent-up  antagonism  breaks  loose.  Meanwhile,  what  does 
Natalie  herself  say  ?  " 

"  What  does  she  say  ?  "  he  repeated,  mechanically.  He  also 
was  lying  back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  gazing  aimlessly  at  the 
window.  But  whenever  anyone  spoke  of  Natalie,  or  when- 
ever he  himself  had  to  speak  of  her,  a  quite  new  expression 
came  into  his  face  ;  the  brows  lifted,  the  eyes  were  gentle. 
"  What  does  she  say  ?  Why,  nothing.  Lind  requested  me 
neither  to  see  her  nor  write  to  her ;  and  I  thought  that 
reasonable  until  I  should  have  heard  what  he  had  to  say  to 
me.  There  is  a  message  I  got  half  an  hour  ago — not  from 
her." 

He  handed  to  Lord  Evelyn  the  anonymous  scroll  that  he 
had  received  from  the  old  German. 

"  Poor  old  Calabressa  !  "  he  said.  "  Those  Italians  are 
always  very  fond  of  little  mysteries.  But  how  he  must  have 
loved  that  woman  ? " 

"  Natalie's  mother  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  absently.  "  I  wonder  he  has  never 
gone  to  see  his  sweetheart  of  former  years." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

Brand  started.  It  was  not  necessary  that  Lord  Evelyn 
should  in  the  mean  time  be  intrusted  with  that  secret. 


A  PROMISE.  179 

"  He  told  me  that  when  he  saw  Natalie  it  was  to  him  like 
a  vision  from  the  dead  ;  she  was  so  like  her  mother.  But  I 
must  be  off,  Evelyn  ;  I  have  to  meet  Molyneux  at  two.  So 
that  is  your  advice,"  he  said,  as  he  went  to  the  door — "  that  I 
should  comply  with  Lind's  demand  ;  or — to  put  it  another 
way — succumb  to  his  threat  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  my  advice  at  all — quite  the  contrary.  I  say,  if 
you  have  any  doubt  or  distrust — if  you  cannot  make  the 
sacrifice  without  perfect  faith  and  satisfaction  to  yourself — 
do  not  think  of  it." 

"  And  go  to  America  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  any  such  compulsory  alternative  ex- 
ists. But  about  Natalie,  surely  you  will  send  her  a  message  ; 
Lind  cannot  object  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  will  send  her  no  message  ;  I  will  go  to  her,"  the  other 
said,  firmly.  "  I  believe  Lind  wishes  me  not  to  see  her. 
Within  the  duties  demanded  of  me  by  the  Society,  his  wishes 
are  to  me  commands  ;  elsewhere  and  otherwise  neither  his 
wishes  nor  his  commands  do  I  value  more  than  a  lucifer- 
match.  Is  that  plain  enough,  Evelyn  ?  " 

And  so  he  went  away,  forgetting  all  the  sage  counsel  Cala- 
bressa  had  given  him  ;  thinking  rather  of  the  kindly,  thought- 
ful, mysterious  little  message  the  old  man  had  left  behind 
him,  and  of  the  beautiful  caged  bird  that  sighed  and  wept 
because  she  thought  she  was  forgotten.  She  should  not 
think  that  long ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    PROMISE. 

THIS  was  a  dark  time  indeed  for  Natalie  Lind — left 
entirely  by  herself,  ignorant  of  what  was  happening  around 
her,  and  haunted  by  vague  alarms.  But  the  girl  was  too 
proud  to  show  to  any  one  how  much  she  suffered.  On  the 
contrary,  she  reasoned  and  remonstrated  with  herself ;  and 
forced  herself  to  assume  an  attitude  of  something  more  than 
resignation,  of  resolution.  If  it  was  necessary  that  her 
father  should  be  obeyed,  that  her  lover  should  maintain  this 
cruel  silence,  even  that  he  and  she  should  have  the  wide 
Atlantic  separate  them  forever,  she  would  not  repine.  It 
was  not  for  her  who  had  so  often  appealed  to  others  to  shrink 
from  sacrifice  herself.  And  if  this  strange  new  hope  that  had 
filled  her  heart  for  a  time  had  to  be  finally  abandoned,  what 


i8o  SUNRISE. 

of  that  ?  What  mattered  a  single  life  ?  She  had  the  larger 
hope  ;  there  was  another  and  greater  future  for  her  to  think 
about ;  and  she  could  cherish  the  thought  that  she  at  least 
had  done  nothing  to  imperil  or  diminish  the  work  to  which 
so  many  of  her  friends  had  given  their  lives. 

But  silence  is  hard  to  bear.  Ever  since  the  scene  with  her 
father,  a  certain  undeclared  estrangement  had  prevailed 
between  these  two ;  and  no  reference  whatsoever  had  been 
made  to  George  Brand.  Her  lover  had  sent  her  no  message 
— no  word  of  encouragement,  of  assurance,  or  sympathy. 
Even  Calabressa  had  gone.  There  remained  to  her  only  the 
portrait  that  Calabressa  had  given  her ;  and  in  the  solitude 
of  her  own  room  many  a  time  she  sat  and  gazed  at  the  beau- 
tiful face  with  some  dim,  wondering  belief  that  she  was  look- 
ing at  her  other  self,  and  that  she  could  read  in  the  features 
some  portion  of  her  own  experiences,  her  own  joys  and  sor- 
rows. For  surely  those  soft,  dark,  liquid  eyes  must  have 
loved  and  been  beloved  ?  And  had  they  too  filled  with 
gladness  when  a  certain  step  had  been  heard  coming  near  ? 
and  they  looked  up  with  trust  and  pride  and  tenderness,  and 
filled  with  tears  again  in  absence,  when  only  the  memory  of 
loving  words  remained  ?  She  recalled  many  a  time  what 
Calabressa  had  said  to  her — "  My  child,  may  Heaven  keep 
you  as  true  and  brave  as  your  mother  was,  and  send  you  more 
happiness."  Her  mother,  then,  had  not  been  happy  ?  But 
she  was  brave,  Calabressa  had  said  :  when  she  loved  a  man, 
would  she  not  show  herself  worthy  of  her  love  ? 

This  was  all  very  well ;  but  in  spite  of  her  reasoning  and 
her  forced  courage,  and  her  self-possession  in  the  presence 
of  others,  Natalie  had  got  into  the  habit  of  crying  in  the 
quietude  of  her  own  room,  to  the  great  distress  of  the  little 
Anneli,  who  had  surprised  her  once  or  twice.  And  the  rosy- 
cheeked  German  maid  guessed  pretty  accurately  what  had 
happened  ;  and  wondered  very  much  at  the  conduct  of 
English  lovers,  who  allowed  their  sweethearts  to  pine  and  fret 
in  solitude  without  sending  them  letters  or  coming  to  see 
them.  But  on  this  particular  afternoon  Anneli  opened  the 
door,  in  answer  to  a  summons,  and  found  outside  a  club' 
commissionaire  whom  she  had  seen  once  or  twice  before  ; 
and  when  he  gave  her  a  letter,  addressed  in  a  handwriting 
which  she  recognized,  and  ask  for  an  answer,  she  was  as 
much  agitated  as  if  it  had  come  from  her  own  sweetheart  in 
Gorlitz.  She  snatched  it  from  the  man,  as  if  she  feared  he 
would  take  it  back.  She  flew  with  it  up-stairs,  breathless. 
She  forgot  to  knock  at  the  door. 


A  PROMISE,  'Si 

"  Oh,  Fraulein,  it  is  a  letter !  "  said  she,  in  great  excite- 
ment, "  and  there  is  to  be  an  answer — " 

Then  she  hesitated.  But  the  good- sense  of  the  child  told 
her  she  ought  to  go. 

"  I  will  wait  outside,  Fraulein.  Will  you  ring  when  you 
have  written  the  answer  ?  " 

When  Natalie  opened  the  letter  she  was  outwardly  quite 
calm — a  little  pale,  perhaps  ;  but  as  she  read  it  her  heart 
beat  fast.  And  it  was  her  heart  that  instantly  dictated  the 
answer  to  this  brief  and  simple  appeal : 

"  MY  NATALIE, — It  is  your  father's  wish  that  I  should  not 
see  you.  Is  it  your  wish  also  ?  There  is  something  I  would 
like  to  say  to  you." 

It  was  her  heart  that  answered.  She  rose  directly.  She 
never  thought  twice,  or  even  once,  about  any  wish,  or  menace, 
or  possible  consequence.  She  went  straight  to  her  desk,  and 
with  a  shaking  hand  wrote  these  lines  : 

"Mv  OWN, — Come  to  me  now,  at  any  time — when  you 
please.  Am  I  not  yours  ?  NATALIE." 

Despite  herself,  she  had  to  pause,  to  steady  her  hand — and 
because  her  heart  was  beating  so  fast  that  she  felt  choked — • 
before  she  could  properly  address  the  envelope.  Then  she 
carried  the  letter  to  Anneli,  who  she  knew  was  waiting  out- 
side. That  done,  she  shut  herself  in  again,  to  give  herself 
time  to  think,  though  in  truth  she  could  scarcely  think  at  all. 
For  all  sorts  of  emotions  were  struggling  for  the  mastery  of 
her — joy  and  a  proud  resolve  distinctly  predominant.  It  was 
done,  and  she  would  abide  by  it.  She  was  not  given  to  fear. 

But  she  tried  hard  to  think.  At  last  her  lover  was  coming 
to  her ;  he  would  ask  her  what  she  was  prepared  to  do  :  what 
would  she  answer  ? 

Then,  again,  the  joy  of  the  thought  that  she  was  about  to 
see  him  drove  every  other  consideration  out  of  her  mind. 
How  soon  might  he  be  here  ?  Hurriedly  she  went  to  a  jar 
of  flowers  on  the  table,  chose  some  scarlet  geraniums,  and 
turned  to  a  mirror.  Her  haste  did  not  avail  much,  for  her 
fingers  were  still  trembling ;  but  that  was  the  color  he  had 
said,  on  one  occasion,  suited  her  best.  She  had  not  been 
wearing  flowers  in  her  hair  of  late. 

From  time  to  time,  for  a  second  or  so,  some  thought  of  her 
father  intervened.  But  then  her  father  had  only  enjoined 
her  to  dismiss  forever  the  hope  of  her  marrying  the  man  to 


182  SUNRISE. 

whom  she  had  given  her  heart  and  her  life :  that  could  not 
prevent  her  loving  him,  and  seeing  him,  and  telling  him  that 
her  love  was  his.  She  wished  the  geraniums  were  less  rose- 
red  and  more  scarlet  in  hue.  It  was  the  scarlet  he  had 
approved  of — that  evening  that  he  and  she  the  little  Polish 
lady  had  dined  together. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait.  With  a  quick,  intense  conscious- 
ness she  heard  the  hansom  drive  up,  and  the  rapid  knock  that 
followed  ;  her  heart  throbbed  through  the  seconds  of  silence  ; 
then  she  knew  that  he  was  ascending  the  stair ;  then  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  the  life  would  go  out  of  her  altogether. 
But  when  he  flung  the  door  open  and  came  toward  her ; 
when  he  caught  her  two  hands  in  his — one  hand  in  each  hand 
— and  held  them  tight ;  when,  in  a  silence  that  neither  cared 
to  break,  he  gazed  into  her  rapidly  moistening  eyes — then  the 
full  tide  of  joy  and  courage  returned  to  her  heart,  and  she 
was  proud  that  she  had  sent  him  that  answer.  For  some 
seconds — to  be  remembered  during  a  life  time — they  regarded 
each  other  in  silence  ;  then  he  released  her  hands,  and  began 
to  put  back  the  hair  from  her  forehead  as  if  he  would  see 
more  clearly  into  the  troubled  deeps  of  her  eyes ;  and  then, 
somehow — perhaps  to  hide  her  crying — she  buried  her  face 
in  his  breast,  and  his  arms  were  around  her,  and  she  was 
sobbing  out  all  the  story  of  her  waiting  and  her  despair. 

"  What ! "  said  he,  cheerfully,  to  calm  and  reassure  her, 
"  the  brave  Natalie  to  be  frightened  like  that !  " 

"  I  was  alone,"  she  murmured.  "  I  had  no  one  to  speak 
to ;  and  I  could  not  understand.  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  you 
do  not  know  what  you  are  to  me  !  " 

He  kissed  her  ;  her  cheeks  were  wet. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  "  don't  forget  this  :  we 
may  be  separated — that  is  possible — I  don't  know ;  but  if  we 
live  fifty  years  apart  from  each  other — if  you  never  hear  one 
word  more  from  me  or  of  me — be  sure  of  this,  that  I  am 
thinking  of  you  always,  and  loving  you,  as  I  do  at  this 
moment  when  my  arms  are  around  you.  Will  you  remember 
that  ?  Will  you  believe  that — always  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  think  otherwise,"  she  answered.  "  But  now 
that  you  are  with  me — that  I  can  hear  you  speak  to  me — " 
And  at  this  point  her  voice  failed  her  altogether ;  and  he 
could  only  draw  her  closer  to  him,  and  soothe  and  caress  her, 
and  stroke  the  raven-black  hair  that  had  never  before 
thrilled  his  fingers  with  its  soft,  strange  touch. 

"  Perhaps,  "  she  said  at  last,  in  a  broken  and  hesitating 
voice,  "you  will  blame  me  for  having  said  what  I  have  said. 


A  PROMISE.  183 

I  have  had  no  girl-companions ;  scarcely  any  woman  to  tell 
me  what  I  should  do  and  say.  But — but  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  America — I  thought  I  should  never  see  you  again — 
I  was  lonely  and  miserable ;  and  when  I  saw  you  again,  how 
could  I  help  saying  I  was  glad  ?  How  could  I  help  saying 
that,  and  more  ? — for  I  never  knew  it  till  now.  Oh,  my  love, 
do  you  know  that  you  have  become  the  whole  world  to  me  ? 
When  you  are  away  from  me,  I  would  rather  die  than  live  ! " 

"  Natalie— my  life ! " 

"  I  must  say  that  to  you — once — that  you  may  understand 
— if  we  should  never  see  each  other  again.  And  now — " 

She  gently  released  herself  from  his  embrace,  and  went 
and  sat  down  by  the  table.  He  took  a  chair  near  her  and 
held  her  hand.  She  would  not  look  up,  for  her  eyes  were 
still  wet  with  tears. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  making  a  great  effort  to  regain  her 
self-control,  "  you  must  tell  me  about  yourself..  A  woman 
may  have  her  feelings  and  fancies,  and  cry  over  them  when 
she  is  afraid  or  alone  ;  that  is  nothing ;  it  is  the  way  of  the 
world.  It  is  a  man's  fate  that  is  of  importance." 

"  You  must  not  talk  like  that,  Natalie,"  said  he  gravely. 
"  Our  fate  is  one.  Without  you,  I  don't  value  my  life  more 
than  this  bit  of  geranium-leaf ;  with  you,  life  would  be  worth 
having." 

"  And  you  must  not  talk  like  that  either,"  she  said. 
"  Your  life  is  valuable  to  others.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  that  is 
what  I  have  been  trying  to  console  myself  with  of  late.  I 
said,  '  Well,  if  he  goes  away  and  does  not  see  me  again,  will 
he  not  be  freer  ?  He  has  a  great  work  to  do  ;  he  may  have 
to  go  away  from  England  for  many  years  ;  why  should  he  be 
encumbered  with  a  wife  ?  " 

"  It  was  your  father,  I  presume,  who  made  those  sugges- 
tions to  you  ?  "  said  Brand,  regarding  her. 

"  Yes  ;  papa  said  something  like  that,"  she  answered,  quite 
innocently.  "  That  is  what  would  naturally  occur  to  him  ; 
his  work  has  always  the  first  place  in  his  thoughts.  And 
with  you,  too  ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  No." 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  will  be  quite  frank  with  you,  Natalie.  You  have  the 
first  place  in  my  thoughts  ;  I  hope  you  ever  will  have,  while 
I  am  a  living  man.  But  cannot  I  give  the  Society  all  the 
work  that  is  in  me  equally  well,  whether  I  love  you  or  whether 
I  don't,  whether  you  become  my  wife  or  whether  you  do  not  ? 


184  SUN-RISE. 

I  have  no  doubt  your  father  has  been  talking  to  you  as  he  has 
been  talking  to  me." 

She  placed  her  disengaged  hand  on  the  top  of  his,  and 
said,  gently, 

"  My  father  perhaps  does  not  quite  understand  you  ;  per- 
haps he  is  too  anxious.  I,  for  one,  am  not  anxious — about 
that.  Do  you  know  how  I  trust  you,  my  dearest  of  friends  ? 
Sometimes  I  have  said  to  myself,  *  I  will  ask  him  for  a 
pledge.  I  will  say  to  him  that  he  must  promise,  that  he 
must  swear  to  me,  that  whatever  happens  as  between  him 
and  me,  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  in  all  the  world  will  induce 
him  to  give  up  what  he  has  undertaken  ; '  but  then  again  1 
have  said  to  myself,  *  No,  I  can  trust  him  for  that.'  " 

"  I  think  you  may,  Natalie,"  said  he,  rather  absently. 
"  And  yet  what  could  have  led  me  to  join  such  a  movement 
but  your  own  noble  spirit — the  glamour  of  your  voice — the 
thanks  of  your  eyes  ?  You  put  madness  into  my  blood  with 
your  singing." 

"  Do  you  call  it  madness  ? "  she  said,  with  a  faint  flush  in 
the  pale  olive  face.  "  Is  it  not  rather  kindness — is  it  not 
justice  to  others — the  desire  to  help — something  that  the  an- 
gels in  heaven  must  feel  when  they  look  down  and  see  what 
a  great  misery  there  is  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  an  angel  yourself,  Natalie,"  said  he, 
quite  simply,  "  and  that  you  have  come  down  and  got  among 
a  lot  of  people  who  don't  treat  you  too  well.  However,  we 
must  come  to  the  present  moment.  You  spoke  of  America  ; 
now  what  do  you  know  about  that  ?  " 

The  abrupt  question  startled  her.  She  had  been  so  over- 
joyed to  see  him — her  whole  soul  was  so  bouyant  and  radiant 
with  happiness — that  she  had  quite  forgotten  or  dismissed 
the  vague  fears  that  had  been  of  late  besetting  her.  But  she 
proceeded  to  tell  him,  with  a  little  hesitation  here  and  there, 
and  with  a  considerable  smoothing  down  of  phrases,  what 
her  father  had  said  to  her.  She  tried  to  make  it  appear 
quite  reasonable.  And  all  she  prayed  for  was  that,  it"  he 
were  sent  to  America,  if  they  had  to  part  for  many  years,  or 
forever,  she  should  be  permitted  to  say  good-bye  to  him. 

"  We  are  not  parted  yet,"  said  Brand,  briefly. 

The  fact  was,  he  had  just  got  a  new  key  to  the  situation. 
So  that  threat  about  America  could  serve  a  double  purpose  ? 
He  was  now  more  than  ever  convinced-  that  Ferdinand  Lind 
was  merely  playing  off  and  on  with  him  until  this  money 
question  should  be  settled ;  and  that  he  had  been  resolved 


A  PROMISE.  185 

all  the  time  that  his  daughter  should  not  marry.     He  was 
beginning  to  understand. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  I  told  you  I  had  something  to 
say  to  you.  You  know  your  father  wrote  to  me  in  the  North, 
asking  me  neither  to  see  you  nor  write  to  you  until  some 
matter  between  him  and  me  was  settled.  Well,  I  respected 
his  wish  until  I  should  know  what  the  thing  was.  Now  that 
I  do  know,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  as  much  concerned 
as  any  one  ;  and  that  it  is  not  reasonable,  it  is  not  possible, 
I  should  refrain  from  seeing  you  and  consulting  you." 

"  No  one  shall  prevent  your  seeing  me,  when  it  is  your 
wish,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  point  :  you  know  enough  about  the  So- 
ciety to  understand,  and  there  is  no  particular  secret.  Your 
father  wishes  me  to  enter  the  higher  grade  of  officers,  under 
the  Council ;  and  the  first  condition  is  that  one  surrenders 
up  every  farthing  of  one's  property." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her.  Her  "  Yes  ?  " — with  its  affectionate 
interest  and  its  absolute  absence  of  surprise — was  almost  the 
exact  equivalent  of  Lord  Evelyn's  "  Well  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  would  advise  me  to  consent  ?  "  he  said,  al- 
most in  the  way  of  a  challenge. 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to 
advise  on  such  things.  What  you  decide  for  yourself,  that 
will  be  right." 

"  But  you  don't  understand,  my  darling.  Supposing  I 
were  ambitious  of  getting  higher  office,  which  I  am  not ;  sup- 
posing I  were  myself  willing  to  sell  my  property  to  swell  the 
funds  of  the  Society — and  I  don't  think  I  should  be  willing 
in  any  case — do  you  think  I  would  part  with  what  ought  to 
belong  to  my  wife — to  you,  Natalie  ?  Do  you  think  I  would 
have  you  marry  a  beggar — one  dependent  on  the  indulgence 
of  people  unknown  to  him  ?  " 

And  now  there  was  a  look  of  real  alarm  on  the  girl's  face. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  quickly. .  "  Is  not  that  what  my  father 
feared  ?  You  are  thinking  of  me  when  you  should  think  of 
others.  Already  I — I — interfere  with  your  duty  ;  I  tempt 
you — " 

"  My  darling,  be  calm,  be  reasonable.  TJiere  is  no  duty 
in  the  matter  ;  your  father  acknowledges  that  himself.  It  is 
a  proposal  I  am  free  to  accept  or  reject,  as  I  please  ;  and 
now  I  promise  you  that,  as  you  won't  give  me  any  advice,  I 
shall  decide  without  thinking  of  you  at  all.  Will  that  satisfy 
you  ?  " 


1 86  S 

She  remained  silent  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then  she  said 
thoughtfully, 

"  Perhaps  you  could  decide  just  as  if  there  were  no  possi- 
bility of  my  ever  being  your  wife  ?  " 

"  To  please  you,  I  will  assume  that  too." 

Then  she  said,  after  a  bit, 

"  One  word  more,  dearest ;  you  must  grant  me  this — that 
I  may  always  be  able  to  think  of  it  when  I  am  alone  and  far 
from  you,  and  be  able  to  reassure  myself  :  it  is  the  promise  I 
thought  I  could  do  so  well  without.  Now  you  will  give  it 
me  ? " 

"  What  promise  ?  " 

"  That  whatever  happens  to  you  or  to  me,  whatever  my 
father  demands  of  me,  and  wherever  you  may  have  to  go,  you 
will  never  withdraw  from  what  you  have  undertaken." 

He  met  the  earnest,  pleading  look  of  those  beautiful  eyes 
without  flinching.  His  heart  was  light  enough,  so  far  as 
such  a  promise  was  concerned.  Heavier  oaths  than  that  lay 
on  him. 

"  That  is  simple  enough,  Natalie,"  said  he.  "  I  promise 
you  distinctly  that  nothing  shall  cause  me  to  swerve  from  my 
allegiance  to  the  Society ;  I  will  give  absolute  and  implicit 
obedience,  and  the  best  of  such  work  as  I  can  do.  But  they 
must  not  ask  me  to  forget  my  Natalie." 

She  rose,  still  holding  his  hand,  and  stood  by  him,  so  that 
he  could  not  quite  see  her  face.  Then  she  said,  in  a  very 
low  voice  indeed, 

"  Dearest,  may  I  give  you  a  ring  ? — you  do  not  wear  one 
at  all—" 

"  But  surely,  Natalie,  it  is  for  me  to  choose  a  ring  for  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  it  is  not  that  I  mean,"  she  said,  quickly,  and  with 
her  face  flushing.  "  It  is  a  ring  that  will  remind  you  of  the 
promise  you  have  given  me  to-day — when  we  may  not  be 
able  to  see  each  other." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

KIRSKI. 


To  this  pale  student  from  the  Reading-room  of  the  British 
Museum,  as  he  stands  on  a  bridge  crossing  one  of  the  smaller 
canals,  surely  the  scene  around  him  must  seem  one  fitted  to 
gladden  the  heart;  for  it  is  Venice  at  mid-day,  in  glowing 


KIRSKL  187 

sunlight :  the  warm  cream-white  fronts  of  the  marble  palaces 
and  casemented  houses,  the  tall  campanili  with  their  golden 
tips,  the  vast  and  glittering  domes  of  the  churches,  all  rising 
fair  and  dream-like  into  the  intense  dark-blue  of  a  cloudless 
sky.  How  the  hot  sunlight  brings  out  all  the  beautiful  color 
of  the  place — the  richly  laden  fruit-stalls  in  the  Riva  dei 
Schiavoni ;  the  russet  and  saffron  sails  of  the  vessels ;  the 
canal-boats  coining  in  to  the  steps  with  huge  open  tuns  of 
purple  wine  to  be  ladled  out  with  copper  buckets ;  and  then 
all  around  the  shining,  twinkling  plain  of  the  green-hued  sea, 
catching  here  and  there  a  reflection  from  the  softly  red  walls 
of  San  Giorgio  and  the  steel-gray  gleaming  domes  of  Santa 
Maria  della  Salute. 

Then  the  passers-by :  these  are  not  like  the  dusky  ghosts 
that  wander  through  the  pale-blue  mists  of  Bloomsbury. 
Here  comes  a  buxom  water-carrier,  in  her  orange  petticoat 
and  sage-green  shawl,  who  has  the  two  copper  cans  at  the  end 
of  the  long  piece  of  wood  poised  on  her  shoulders,  pretty 
nearly  filled  to  the  brim.  Then  a  couple  of  the  gayer  gondo- 
liers in  white  and  blue,  with  fancy  waist-belts,  and  rings  in 
their  ears.  A  procession  of  black-garbed  monks  wends 
slowly  along;  they  have  come  from  the  silence  of  the 
Armenian  convent  over  there  at  the  horizon.  Some  wandering 
minstrels  shoot  their  gondola  into  the  mouth  of  the  canal,  and 
strike  up  a  gay  waltz,  while  they  watch  the  shaded  balconies 
above.  Here  is  a  Lascar  ashore  from  the  big  steamer  that  is 
to  start  for  Alexandria  on  the  morrow.  A  company  of  soldiers, 
with  blue  coats,  canvas  trousers,  and  white  gaiters,  half  march 
and  half  trot  along  to  the  quick,  crackling  music  of  the 
buglers.  A  swarthy-visaged  maiden,  with  the  calm  brow  of  a 
Madonna,  appears  in  the  twilight  of  a  balcony,  with  a  packet 
of  maize  in  her  hand,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  she  is  surrounded 
with  a  cloud  of  pigeons.  Then  this  beggar — a  child  of  eight 
or  ten — red-haired  and  blue-eyed  :  surely  she  has  stepped  out 
of  one  of  Titian's  pictures  ?  She  whines  and  whimpers  her 
prayers  to  him  ;  but  there  is  something  in  her  look  that  he  has 
seen  elsewhere.  It  belongs  to  another  century. 

From  these  reveries  Mr.  Gathorne  Edwards  was  aroused  by 
some  one  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder.  It  was  Calabressa. 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  Edouarts,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice — for 
the  red-haired  little  beggar  was  still  standing  there  expectant 
— "  he  has  gone  over  to  the  shipping-place.  We  must  follow 
later  on.  Meanwhile,  regard  this  letter  that  has  just  been 
forwarded  to  me.  Ah,  you  English  do  not  forget  your 
promises  !  " 


1 88  SC7NXISE. 

Edwards  threw  a  piece  of  money  to  the  child,  who  passed 
on.  Then  he  took  the  letter  and  read  it.  It  was  in  French. 

"  DEAR  CALABRESSA, — I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  have 
done  with  Yakov  Kirski.  They  seem  unwilling  to  say  here, 
and  I  do  not  choose  to  inquire  further.  But  I  undertook  to 
look  after  him,  and  I  understood  he  was  getting  on  very  well, 
and  now  you  have  carried  him  off.  I  hope  it  is  with  no 
intention  of  allowing  him  to  go  back  to  Russia,  where  he  will 
simply  make  an  attempt  at  murder,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  police.  Do  not  let  the  poor  devil  go  and  make  a  fool  of 
himself.  If  you  want  money  to  send  him  back  to  England, 

show  this  letter,  or  forward  it  to  Messrs.  ,  who  will 

give  you  what  you  want. 

"  Your  friend,  GEORGE  BRAND. 

"  P.S. — I  have  seen  your  beautiful  caged  little  bird.  I  can 
say  no  more  at  present,  but  that  she  shall  not  suffer  through 
any  neglect  of  mine." 

"  What  is  that  about  the  caged  bird  ? "  said  Edwards. 

"  Ah,  the  caged  bird  ? "  said  Calabressa.  "  The  caged  bird  ? 
— do  you  see,  that  is  a  metaphor.  It  is  nothing  ;  one  makes 
one's  little  joke.  But  I  was  saying,  my  dear  friend,  that  you 
English  do  not  promise,  and  then  forget.  No  ;  he  says,  *  I 
will  befriend  this  poor  devil  of  a  Kirski ;'  and  here  he  comes 
inquiring  after  him.  Now  I  must  answer  the  letter;  you  will 
accompany  me,  Monsieur  Edouarts?  Ten  minutes  in  my 
little  room,  and  it  is  done." 

So  the  two  walked  away  together.  This  Edwards  who  now 
accompanied  Calabressa  was  a  man  of  about  thirty,  who 
looked  younger ;  tall,  fair,  with  a  slight  stoop,  a  large  forehead, 
and  blue  eyes  that  stared  near-sightedly  through  spectacles. 
The  ordinary  expression  of  his  face  was  grave  even  to 
melancholy,  but  his  occasional  smile  was  humorous,  and  when 
he  laughed  the  laugh  was  soft  and  light  like  that  of  a  child. 
His  knowledge  of  modem  languages  was  considered  to  be 
almost  unrivalled,  though  he  had  travelled  but  little. 

When,  in  this  little  room,  Calabressa  had  at  length  finished 
his  letter  and  dusted  it  over  with  sand,  he  was  not  at  all  loath 
to  show  it  to  this  master  of  modern  speech.  Calabressa  was 
proud  of  his  French ;  and  if  he  would  himself  have  acknowl- 
edged that  it  was  perhaps  here  and  there  of  doubtful  idiom 
and  of  phonetic  spelling,  would  he  not  have  claimed  for  it 
that  it  was  fluent,  incisive,  and  ornate  ? 

"  My  valued  friend,  it  is  not  permitted  me  to  answer  your 


KIRSKI.  189 

questions  in  precise  terms  ;  but  he  to  whom  you  have  had 
the  goodness  to  extend  your  bountiful  protectidi^^^vrefl'  und 
safe,  and  under  my  own  care.  No ;  he  goes  not  back  to 
Russia.  His  thoughts  are  different  ;  his  madness  travels  in 
other  directions  ;  it  is  no  longer  revenge,  it  is  adoration  and 
gratitude  that  his  heart  holds.  And  you,  can. you  not  guess 
who  has  worked  the  miracle  ?  Think  of  this  :  you  have  a 
poor  wretch  who  is  distracted  by  injuries  and  suffering ;  he 
goes  away  alone  into  Europe  ;  he  is  buffeted  about  with  the 
winds -of  hunger  and  thirst  and  cold;  he  cannot  speak;  he 
is  like  a  dog — a  wild  beast  that  people  drive  away  from  their 
door.  And  all  at  once  some  one  addresses  him  in  gentle 
tones  :  it  is  the  voice  of  an  angel  to  him  !  You  plough  and 
harrow  the  poor  wretch's  heart  with  suffering  and  contempt 
and  hopelessness,  until  it  is  a  desert,  a  wilderness  ;  but  some 
one,  by  accident,  one  day  drops  a  seed  of  kindness  into  it, 
and  behold  !  the  beautiful  flower  of  love  springing  up,  and 
all  the  man's  life  going  into  it !  Can  you  understand — you 
who  ought  to  understand  ?  Were  you  not  present  when  the 
bewildered,  starved,  hunted  creature  heard  that  gentle  voice 
of  pity,  like  an  angel  speaking  from  heaven  ?  And  if  the 
beautiful  girl,  who  will  be  the  idol  of  my  thoughts  through 
my  remaining  years,  if  she  does  not  know  that  she  has  res- 
cued a  human  soul  from  despair,  you  will  tell  her — tell  her 
from  me,  from  Calabressa.  What  would  not  Kirski  do  for 
her  ?  you  might  well  ask.  The  patient  regards  the  physician 
who  has  cured  him  with  gratitude  :  this  is  more  that  grati- 
tude, it  is  worship.  What  she  has  preserved  she  owns  ;  he 
.would  give  his  life  to  her,  to  you,  to  any  one  whom  she  re- 
gards with  affection.  For  myself,  I  do  not  say  such  things  ; 
but  she  may  count  on  me  also,  while  one  has  yet  life, 

"  I  am  yours,  and  hers,  CALABRESSA." 

The  letter  was  handed  to  Gathorne  Edwards  with  a  proud 
air ;  and  he  read  it,  and  handed  it  back. 

"  This  man  Kirski  is  not  so  much  of  a  savage  as  you  im- 
agine," he  said.  "  He  learns  quickly,  and  forgets  nothing. 
He  can  repeat  all  the  articles  of  membership  ;  but  it  is  No.  5 
that  he  is  particularly  fond  of.  You  have  not  heard  him  go 
over  it,  Calabressa  ?  " 

"  I  ?     No.     He  does  not  waste  my  time  that  way." 

"  His  pronunciation,"  continued  the  younger  man,  with  a 
smile,  "  is  rather  like  the  cracking  of  dry  twigs.  *  Article  5. 
Whatever  punishment  may  be  decreed  against  any  Officer, 
Companion,  or  Friend  of  the  Society  may  be  vicariously 


190  SUNRISE. 

borne  by  any  other  Officer,  Companion,  or  Friend  who  of 
his  own  full  and  free  consent  acts  as  substitute;  the  original 
offender  becoming  thereby  redeemed,  acquitted,  and  re- 
leased.' And  then  he  invariably  adds  :  "  Why  not  make  me 
of  some  use  ?  To  myself  my  life  is  nothing.'  " 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"  It  is  himself,"  said  Edwards. 

"  Enter  !  "  Calabressa  called  out. 

The  man  who  now  came  into  the  room  was  a  very  different 
looking  person  from  the  wild,  unkempt  creature  who  had 
confronted  Natalie  Lind  in  Curzon  Street.  The  voluminous 
red  beard  and  mustache  had  been  cropped;  he  wore  the 
clothes  of  a  decent  workman,  with  a  foreign  touch  here  and 
there ;  he  was  submissive  and  docile  in  look. 

"  Well,  where  have  you  been,  my  friend  ?  "  Calabressa 
said  to  him  in  Italian. 

Kirski  glanced  at  Gathorne  Edwards,  and  began  to  speak 
to  him  in  Russian. 

"  Will  you  explain  for  me,  little  father  ?  I  have  been  to 
many  churches." 

"  The  police  will  not  suspect  him  if  he  goes  there,"  said 
Calabressa,  laughing. 

"  And  to  the  shops  in  the  Piazza.  San  Marco,  where  the 
pictures  are  of  the  saints." 

"Well?" 

"  Little  father,  I  can  find  no  one  of  the  saints  so  beauti- 
ful as  that  one  in  England  that  the  Master  Calabressa  knows." 

Calabressa  laughed  again. 

"Aliens,  mon  grand  enfant !  Tell  him  that  if  it  is  only  a 
likeness  he  is  hunting  for,  I  can  show  him  one." 

With 'that  he  took  out  from  his  breast-pocket  a  small  pocket 
book,  opened  it,  found  a  certain  photograph,  and  put  it  on 
the  table,  shoving  it  over  toward  Kirski.  The  dim-eyed  Rus- 
sian did  not  clare  to  touch  it ;  but  he  stooped  over  it,  and  he 
put  one  trembling  hand  on  each  side  of  it,  as  if  he  would 
concentrate  the  light,  and  gazed  at  this  portrait  of  Natalie 
Lind  until  he  could  see  nothing  at  all  for  the  tears  that  came 
into  his  eyes.  Then  he  rose  abruptly,  and  said  something 
rapidly  to  Edwards. 

"  He  says,  '  Take  it  away,  or  you  will  make  me  a  thief.  It 
is  worth  more  than  all  the  diamonds  in  the  world.' " 

Calabressa  did  not  laugh  this  time.  He  regarded  the  man 
with  a  look  in  which  there  was  as  much  pity  as  curiosity. 

"The  poor  devil!"  he  said.  "Tell  him  I  will  ask  the 
beautiful  saint  whom  he  worships  so  to  send  him  a  portrait 


KlRSKt. 

of  herself  with  her  own  hands.     I  will.     She  will 
as  that  for  her  friend  Calabressa." 

This  had  scarcely  been  translated  to  Kirski  when,  in  his 
sudden  gratitude,  he  caught  Calabressa's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Tell  him,  also,"  Calabressa  said,  good-naturedly,  "that  if 
he  is  hungry  before  dinner-time  there  is  sausage  and  bread  and 
beer  in  the  cupboard.  But  he  must  not  stir  out  till  we  come 
back.  Allons,  mon  bon  camarade  !  " 

Calabressa  lit  another  cigarette,  and  the  two  companions 
sallied  forth.  They  stepped  into  a  gondola,  and  presently 
they  were  being  borne  swiftly  over  the  plain  of  light-green 
water.  By-and-by  they  plunged  into  a  varied  and  picturesque 
mass  of  shipping,  and  touched  land  again  in  front  of  a  series 
of  stores.  The  gondola  was  ordered  to  await  their  return. 

Calabressa  passed  without  question  through  the  lower  floor 
of  this  particular  building,  where  the  people  were  busy  with 
barrels  of  flour,  and  led  the  way  up-stairs  until  he  stopped  at 
a  certain  door.  He  knocked  thrice  and  entered.  There  was 
a  small,  dark  man  seated  at  a  table,  apparently  engaged  with 
some  bills  of  lading. 

"  You  are  punctual,  Brother  Calabressa." 

"  Your  time  is  valuable,  Brother  Granaglia.  Let  me  pre- 
sent to  you  my  comrade  Signer  Edouarts,  of  whom  I  wrote  to 
you." 

The  sallow-faced  little  man  with  the  tired  look  bowed  cour- 
teously, begged  his  guests  to  be  seated,  and  pushed  toward 
them  a  box  of  cigarettes. 

"  Now,  my  Calabressa,"  said  he,  "  to  the  point.  As  you 
guess,  I  am  pressed  for  time.  Seven  days  hence  will  find  me 
in  Moscow." 

"  In  Moscow  !  "  exclaimed  Calabressa.     "  You  dare  not !  " 

Granaglia  waved  his  hand  a  couple  of  inches. 

"  Do  not  protest.  It  may  be  your  turn  to-morrow.  And 
my  good  friend  Calabressa  would  find  Moscow  just  about  as 
dangerous  for  him  as  for  me." 

"  Monsieur  le  Secretaire,  I  have  no  wish  to  try.  But  to  the 
point,  as  you  say.  May  one  ask  how  it  stands  with  Zacca- 
telli?" 

Granaglia  glanced  at  the  Englishman. 

"Of  course  he  knows  everything,"  Calabressa  explained 
instantly.  "  How  otherwise  should  I  have  Drought  him  with 
me?" 

"  Well,  Zaccatelli  has  received  his  warning." 

"  Who  carried  it  ?  " 

«  j  » 


192  SUNRISE. 

"  You  !  You  are  the  devil !  You  thrust  your  head  into 
the  lion's  den  !  " 

The  black-eyed,  worn-faced  little  man  seemed  pleased. 
An  odd,  dry  smile  appeared  about  the  thin  lips. 

"  It  needed  no  courage  at  all,  friend  Calabressa.  His  Emi- 
nence knows  who  we  are,  no  one  better.  The  courage  \yas 
his.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  when  you  are  told  that  within 
a  certain  given  time  you  will  be  a  dead  man  ;  but  Zaccatelli 
did  not  blanch ;  no,  he  was  very  polite  to  me.  He  paid  us 
compliments.  We  were  not  like  the  others,  Calabressa.  We 
were  good  citizens  and  Christians ;  even  his  Holiness  might 
be  induced  to  lend  an  ear ;  why  should  not  the  Church  and 
we  be  friends  ?  " 

Calabressa  burst  out  laughing. 

"Surely  evil  days  have  fallen  on  the  Pope,  Brother  Gran- 
aglia,  when  one  of  his  own  Cardinals  proposes  that  he  should 
at  last  countenance  a  secret  society.  But  his  Eminence  was 
mad  with  fear — was  it  not  so  ?  He  wanted  to  win  you  over 
with  promises,  eh  ?  Idle  words,  and  no  more.  He  feeds 
you  on  wind,  and  sends  you  away,  and  returns  to  his  mis- 
tresses and  his  wines  and  his  fountains  of  perfume  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  so,"  said  the  other,  with  the  same  dry  smile, 
"  His  Eminence,  as  I  say  to  you,  knows  as  well  as  any  one 
in  Europe  who  and  what  we  are,  and  what  is  our  power.  The 
day  after  I  called  on  him  with  my  little  message,  what  does 
he  do — of  his  own  free-will,  mind  you — but  send  back  the 
daughter  of  old  De  Bedros  to  her  home,  with  a  pledge  to  her 
father  that  she  shall  have  a  dowry  of  ten  thousand  lire  when 
she  marries.  The  father  is  pleased,  the  daughter  is  not.  She 
sits  and  cries.  She  talks  of  herself  getting  at  him  with  a 
stiletto." 

He  took  a  cigarette,  and  accepted  a  light  from  Calabressa. 

"  Further,"  he  continued,  "  his  Eminence  is  so  kind  as  to 
propose  to  give  the  Council  an  annual  subsidy  from  his  own 
purse  of  thirty  thousand  lire." 

"  Thirty  thousand  lire  !  "  Calabressa  exclaimed. 

But  at  this  point  even  Granaglia  began  to  laugh. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  friend,"  he  said,  apparently  apostrophizing 
the  absent  Cardinal.  "  You  know,  then,  who  we  are,  and 
you  do  not  wish  to  give  up  all  pleasures.  No  ;  we  are  to  be- 
come the  good*  boy  among  secret  societies ;  we  are  to  have 
the  blessing  of  the  Pope  ;  we  are  to  fight  Prince  Bismarck 
for  you.  Prince  Bismarck  has  all  his  knights  and  his  castles 
on  the  board ;  but  what  are  they  against  an  angelic  host  of 
bishops  and  some  millions  of  common  pawns  ?  Prince  Bis- 


A  CLIMAX.  193 

marck  wishes  to  plunge  Europe  again  into  war.  The  church 
with  this  tremendous  engine  within  reach,  says,  No.  Do  you 
wish  to  find  eight  men — eight  men,  at  the  least — out  of  every 
company  of  every  regiment  in  all  your  corps  d'  armee  throw 
down  their  rifles  at  the  first  onset  of  battle  ?  You  will  shoot 
them  for  mutiny  ?  My  dear  fellow,  you  cannot ,  the  enemy 
is  upon  you.  With  eight  men  out  of  each  company  throwing 
down  their  weapons,  and  determined  either  to  desert  or  die, 
how  on  earth  can  you  fight  at  all  ?  Well,  then,  good  Bis- 
marck, you  had  better  make  your  peace  with  the  Church, 
and  rescind  those  Falk  laws.  What  do  you  think  of  that 
scheme,  Calabressa  ?  It  was  ingenious,  was  it  not,  to  have 
come  into  the  head  of  a  man  under  sentence  of  death  ? " 

"  But  the  thirty  thousand  lire,  Brother  Granaglia.  It  is  a 
tremendous  bribe." 

"  The  Council  does  not  accept  bribes,  Brother  Calabressa," 
said  the  other,  coldly. 

"  It  is  decided,  then,  that  the  decree  remains  to  be  exe- 
cuted ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary.  But  if  you  wish  to  know 
for  certain,  you  must  seek  the  Council.  They  are  at  Naples." 

He  pulled  an  ink-bottle  before  him,  and  made  a  motion 
with  his  forefinger. 

"  You  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Calabressa  answered.  "  And  I  will  go  on  to 
Naples,  Brother  Granaglia ;  for  I  have  with  me  one  who  I 
think  will  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the  Council  effectively,  so 
far  as  his  Eminence  the  Cardinal  is  concerned." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  said  the  other,  but  with  no  great  interest. 

"  Yakov  Kirski.     He  is  a  Russian." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  CLIMAX. 

IT  was  a  momentous  decision  that  George  Brand  had  to  ar- 
rive at ;  and  yet  he  scarcely  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it.  The 
man  had  changed  so  much  during  these  past  six  months. 

"  Do  you  know,  Evelyn,"  he  was  saying  to  his  friend,  on 
the  very  evening  on  which  his  answer  was  to  be  given  to  Fer- 
dinand Lind,  "  I  am  beginning  to  look  on  that  notion  of  my 
going  to  America  with  anything  but  dislike.  Rather  the  op- 


194  SUNRISE. 

posite,  indeed.  I  should  like  to  get  rid  of  a  lot  of  old  asso- 
ciations, and  start  in  a  new  and  wider  field.  With  another 
life  to  lead,  don't  you  want  another  sort  of  world  to  live  it 
in?" 

Lord  Evelyn  regarded  him.  No  one  had  observed  with  a 
closer  interest  the  gradual  change  that  had  come  over  this 
old  friend  of  his.  And  he  was  proud  of  it,  too ;  for  had  it 
not  been  partly  of  his  doing  ? 

*'  One  does  not  breathe  free  air  here,"  Brand  continued, 
rather  absently — as  if  his  mental  vision  was  fixed  on  the 
greater  spaces  beyond  the  seas.  "  With  a  new  sort  of  life  be- 
ginning, wouldn't  it  be  better  to  start  it  under  new  conditions 
— feeling  yourself  unhampered — with  nothing  around  to  dis- 
turb even  the  foolishness  of  your  dreams  and  hopes  ?  Then 
you  could  work  away  at  your  best,  leaving  the  result  to  time." 

"  I  know  perfectly  what  all  that  means,"  Lord  Evelyn  said. 
"  You  are  anxious  to  get  away  from  Lind.  You  believe  in  your 
work,  but  you  don't  like  to  be  associated  with  him." 

"  Perhaps  I  know  a  little  more  than  you,  Evelyn,"  said  Brand, 
gently,  "  of  Lind's  relation  to  the  society.  He  does  not  repre- 
sent it  to  me  at  all.  He  is  only  one  of  its  servants,  like  our- 
selves. But  don't  let  us  talk  about  him." 

"  You  must  talk  about  him,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  as  he  pulled 
out  his  watch.  "  It  is  now  seven.  At  eight  you  go  to  the  initia- 
tion of  Molyneux,  and  you  have  promised  to  give  Lind  his 
answer  to-night.  Well  ? " 

Brand  was  playing  idly  with  a  pocket-pencil.  After  a  minute 
or  two,  he  said, 

"  I  promised  Natalie  to  consider  this  thing  without  any  refer- 
ence to  her  whatever — that  I  would  decide  just  as  if  there  was 
no  possibility  of  her  becoming  my  wife.  I  promised  that ;  but 
it  is  hard  to  do,  Evelyn.  I  have  tried  to  imagine  my  never  hav- 
ing seen  her,  and  that  I  had  been  led  into  this  affair  solely 
through  you.  Then  I  do  think  that  if  .you  had  come  to  me  and 
said  that  my  giving  up  every  penny  I  possess  would  forward  a 
good  work — would  do  indirect  benefit  to  a  large  number  of  peo- 
ple, and  so  forth — I  do  think  I  vcould  have  said,  *  All  right, 
Evelyn  ;  take  it.'  I  never  cared  much  for  money ;  I  fancy  I 
could  get  on  pretty  well  on  a  sovereign  a  week.  I  say  that  if 
you  had  come  to  me  with  this  request — " 

"  Precisely,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  quickly.  "  You  would  have 
said  yes,  if  I  had  come  to  you.  But  because  it  is  Lind,  whom 
you  distrust,  you  fall  away  from  the  height  of  self-sacrifice,and 
regard  the  proposal  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Waldegrave 
Club.  Mind  you,  I  am  not  counselling  you  one  way  or  the 


A  CLIMAX.  195 

other.  I  am  only  pointing  out  to  you  that  it  is  your  dislike  of 
Lind  that  prevents  your  doing  what  you  otherwise  would  have 
done." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  other,  boldly.  "  Have  I  not  reason 
to  distrust  him  ?  How  can  I  explain  his  conduct  and  his  im- 
plied threats  except  on  the  supposition  that  he  has  been 
merely  playing  with  me,  as  far  as  his  daughter  is  concerned  ; 
and  that  as  soon  as  I  had  handed  over  this  property  I  should 
find  it  out  ?  Oh,  it  is  a  very  pretty  scheme  altogether  !  This 
heap  of  English  money  transferred  to  the  treasury ;  Lind  at 
length  achieving  his  ambition  of  being  put  on  the  Council ; 
Natalie  carried  off  to  Italy  ;  and  myself  granted  the  honor  of 
stepping  into  Lind's  shoes  in  Lisle  Street.  On  the  other 
hand  :  '  Refuse,  and  we  pack  you  off  to  America.'  Now,  you 
know,  Evelyn,  one  does  not  like  to  be  threatened  into  any- 
thing !  " 

"  Then  you  have  decided  to  say,  No  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  second  or  two  ;  when  he  did,  his 
manner  was  quite  changed. 

"  I  rather  think  I  know  what  both  you  and  Natalie  would 
have  me  do,  although  you  won't  say  so  explicitly.  And  if 
you  and  she  had  come  to  me  with  this  proposal,  do  you  think 
there  would  have  been  any  difficulty  ?  I  should  have  been 
satisfied  if  she  had  put  her  hand  in  mine,  and  said,  *  Thank 
you.'  Then  I  should  have  reminded  her  that  she  was  sacri- 
ficing something  too." 

-  He  relapsed  into  silence  again  ;  Lord  Evelyn  was  vaguely 
conscious  that  the  minutes  were  passing  by,  and  that  his 
friend  seemed  as  far  off  as  ever  from  any  decision. 

"  You  remember  the  old-fashioned  rose-garden,  Evelyn  ?  " 

"  At  the  beeches  ?     Yes." 

"  Don't  you  think  Natalie  would  like  the  view  from  that 
side  of  the  house  ?  And  if  she  chose  that  side,  I  was  think- 
ing of  having  a  conservatory  built  all  the  length  of  the  rooms, 
with  steps  opening  out  into  the  rose-garden.  She  could  go 
out  there  for  a  stroll  of  a  morning." 

So  these  had  been  his  dreams. 

"  If  I  go  to  America,"  he  said  presently,  "  I  should  expect 
you  to  look  after  the  old  place  a  little  bit.  You  might  take 
your  sisters  there  occasionally,  and  turn  them  loose  ;  it  wants  a 
woman's  hand  here  and  there.  Mrs.  Alleyne  would  put  you 
all  right ;  and  of  course  I  should  send  Waters  down,  and 
give  up  those  rooms  in  Buckingham  Street." 

"  But  I  cannot  imagine  your  going  to  America,  somehow," 


196  S 

Lord  Evelyn  said.     "  Surely  there  is  plenty  for  you  to  do 
here." 

"  I  will  say  this  of  Lind,  that  he  is  not  an  idle  talker. 
What  he  says  he  means.  Besides,  Molyneux  can  take  up  my 
work  in  the  North ;  he  is  the  very  man'." 

Again  silence.     It  was  now  half-past  seven. 

"  I  wish,  though,  it  had  been  something  more  exciting," 
Brand  said.  "  I  should  not  have  minded  having  a  turn  at 
the  Syrian  business;  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  risking  my 
neck.  There  is  not  much  danger  in  Philadelphia." 

"  But  look  here,  Brand,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  regarding  him 
attentively.  "  You  are  speaking  with  great  equanimity  about 
your  going  to  America ;  possibly  you  might  like  the  change 
well  enough ;  but  do  I  understand  you  that  you  are  prepared 
to  go  alone  ? " 

Brand  looked  up ;  he  understood  what  was  meant. 

"  If  I  am  ordered — yes." 

He  held  out  his  right  hand ;  on  the  third  finger  there  was 
a  massive  gold  ring — a  plain  hoop,  without  motto  or  design 
whatever. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  is  the  first  ring  I  ever  wore.  It  was 
given  to  me  this  afternoon,  to  remind  me  of  a  promise ;  and 
that  promise  is  to  me  more  binding  than  a  hundred  oaths," 

He  rose  with  a  sigh. 

"Ah,  well,  Evelyn,  whatever  happens  we  will  not  complain. 
There  have  been  compensations." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  what  answer  you  mean  to  give 
to  Lind." 

"  Suppose  I  wait  until  I  see  him  before  deciding  ? " 

"  Then  you  will  say,  No.  You  have  allowed  your  distrust 
of  him  to  become  a  sort  of  mania,  and  the  moment  you  see 
him  the  mere  sight  of  him  will  drive  you  into  antagonism." 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  wish  I  could  do,  Evelyn,"  said  the  other, 
laughing :  "  I  wish  I  could  turn  over  everything  I  have  got  to 
you,  and  escape  scot-free  to  America  and  start  my  own  life 
free  and  unencumbered." 

"And  alone?" 

His  face  grew  grave  again. 

"  There  is  nothing  possible  else  !  "  said  he. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  he  left.  As  he  walked 
along  Piccadilly,  a  clear  and  golden  twilight  was  shining  over 
the  trees'  in  the  Green  Park.  All  around  him  was  the  roar  of 
the  London  streets  ;  but  it  was  not  that  that  he  heard.  Was 
it  not  rather  the  sound  of  a  soft,  low  voice,  and  the  silvery 


A  CLIMAX.  197 

notes  of  the  zither  ?     His  memory  acted  as  a  sea-shell,  and 
brought  him  an  echo  from  other  days  and  other  climes. 

"  Behold  the  beautiful  night — the  wind  sleeps  drowsily — the  silent 
shores  slumber  in  the  dark  : 

"  Sul  placido  elemento 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  ! 

"The  soft  wind  moves — as  it  stirs  among  the  leaves — it  moves  and 
dies — among  the  murmur  of  the  water : 

"  Lascia  1'amico  tetto, 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  1 

"Now  on  the  spacious  mantle — of  the  already  darkening  heavens — see, 
oh  the  shining  wonder— rhow  the  white  stars  tremble : 

"  Sul  1'onde  addormentate 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  ! " 

This  was  the  voice  that  he  heard  amidst  the  roar  of  the 
London  streets.  Would  he  hear  it  far  away  on  the  wide  At- 
lantic, with  the  shores  of  England  hidden  behind  the  mists  of 
rain  ?  To-night  was  to  decide  what  the  future  of  his  life  was 
to  be. 

If  Natalie  had  appeared  at  this  moment,  and  said  to  him, 
"  Dearest,  let  it  be  as  my  father  wishes  ; "  or  if  Lord  Evelyn 
had  frankly  declared  to  him  that  it  was  his  duty  to  surrender 
his  possessions  to  this  Society  to  which  he  had  devoted  his 
life,  there  would  have  been  not  a  moment's  hesitation.  But 
now  he  was  going  to  see  a  man  whom  he  suspected  and  was 
inclined  to  hate,  and  his  nature  began  to  harden.  It  would 
be  a  question  between  one  man  of  the  world  and  another. 
Sentiment  would  be  put  aside.  He  would  no  longer  be  played 
with.  A  man  should  be  master  of  his  own  affairs. 

This  was  what  he  said  to  himself.  But  he  had  quite  for- 
gotten his  determination  to  consider  this  matter  as  if  no  Na- 
talie existed ;  and  his  resolve  to  exclude  sentiment  altogether 
did  not  interfere  with  the  fact  that  always,  if  unconsciously, 
there  remained  in  his  mind  a  certain  picture  he  had  been 
dreaming  a  good  deal  about  of  late.  It  was  a  picture  of  an 
old-fashioned  rose-garden  in  the  light  of  an  English  summer 
morning,  with  a  young  wife  walking  there,  herself  taller  and 
fairer  than  any  flower.  Would  she  sing,  in  her  gladness,  the 
songs  of  other  lands,  to  charm  the  sweet  English  air  ?  There 
was  that  one  about  O  dolce  Napoli  ! — o  suol  beato  ! — 

When  he  got  to  Lisle  Street,  every  one  had  arrived  except 
Molyneux  himself.  Mr.  Lincl  was  gravely  polite  to  him.  Of 


198  SUNXISE. 

course  no  mention  could  then  be  made  about  private  affairs ; 
the  talk  going  on  was  all  about  the  East,  and  how  certain  pop- 
ulations were  faring. 

Presently  the  pink-faced  farmer-agitator  was  ushered  in, 
looking  a  little  bit  alarmed.  But  this  frightened  look  speedily 
disappeared,  and  gave  place  to  one  of  mild  astonishment,  as 
he  appeared  to  recognize  the  faces  of  one  or  two  of  those  in 
the  room.  The  business  of  the  evening,  so  far  as  the  brief 
formalities  were  concerned,  was  speedily  got  over,  and  five  of 
the  members  of  the  small  assembly  immediately  left. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Molyneux,"  said  Ferdinand  Lind,  pleasantly, 
"  Mr.  Brand  and  I  have  some  small  private  matters  to  talk 
over :  will  you  excuse  us  if  *we  leave  you  for  a  few  minutes  ? 
Here  are  some  articles  of  our  association  which  you  may  look 
over  in  the  mean  time.  May  I  trouble  you  to  follow  me,  Mr. 
Brand  ? " 

Brand  followed  him  into  an  inner  and  smaller  room,  and  sat 
down. 

"You  said  you  would  have  your  mind  made  up  to-day  with 
regard  to  the  proposal  I  put  before  you,"  Mr.  Lind  observed, 
with  a  matter-of-fact  air,  as  he  drew  in  his  chair  to  the  small 
table. 

Brand  simply  nodded,  and  said  "  Yes."  He  was  measur- 
ing his  man.  He  thought  his  manner  was  a  good  deal  too 
suave. 

"  But  allow  me  to  say,  my  dear  Mr.  Brand,  that,  as  far  I  am 
concerned,  there  is  no  hurry.  Have  you  given  yourself  time  ? 
It  is  a  matter  of  moment ;  one  should  consider." 

"  I  have  considered." 

His  tone  was  firm :  one  would  have  thought  he  had  never 
had  any  hesitation  at  all.  But  his  decision  had  not  been  defi- 
nitely arrived  at  until,  some  quarter  of  an  hour  before,  he  had 
met  Ferdinand  Lind  face  to  face. 

"I  may  say  at  once  that  I  prefer  to  remain  in  my  present 
grade." 

He  was  watching  Lind  as  he  spoke.  There  was  a  slight, 
scarcely  perceptible,  movement  of  the  eyebrows  ;  that  was  all. 
The  quiet  courtesy  of  his  manner  remained  undisturbed. 

"  That  is  your  decision,  then  ? "  he  said,  just  as  if  some 
trifling  matter  had  been  arranged. 

"  Perhaps  I  need  not  bother  you  with  my  reasons,"  Brand 
continued,  speaking  slowly  and  with  precision,  "  but  there  are 
several." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  given  the  subject  serious  con- 


A  CLIMAX.  199 

sideration,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  without  expressing  any  father  in- 
terest or  curiosity. 

Now  this  was  not  at  all  what  George  Brand  wanted.  He 
wanted  to  have  his  suspicions  allayed  or  confirmed.  He 
wanted  to  let  this  man  know  how  he  read  the  situation. 

"  One  reason  I  may  as  well  name  to  you,  Mr.  Lind,"  said 
he,  being  forced  to  speak  more  plainly.  "  If  I  were  to  marry, 
I  should  like  to  give  my  wife  a  proper  home.  I  should  not 
like  her  to  marry  a  pauper — one  dependent  on  the  complais- 
ance of  other  people.  And  really  it  has  seemed  to  me  strange 
that  you,  with  your  daughter's  future,  your  daughter's  interests 
to  think  of,  should  have  made  this  proposal — " 

Lind  interrupted  him  with  a  slight  deprecatory  motion  of 
the  hand. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  he.  "Let  us  confine  ourselves  to  busi- 
ness, if  you  please." 

"  I  presume  it  is  a  man's  business  to  provide  for  the  future 
of  his  wife,"  said  Brand,  somewhat  hotly,  his  pride  beginning 
to  kick  against  this  patronizing  graciousness  of  manner. 

"  I  must  beg  of  you,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  with  the 
same  calm  courtesy,  "to  keep  private  interests  and  projects 
entirely  outside  of  this  matter,  which  relates  to  the  Society 
alone,  and  your  duty,  and  the  wishes  of  those  with  whom  you 
are  associated.  You  have  decided  ? — very  well.  I  am  sorry ; 
but  you  are  within  your  right." 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  that  ? "  said  Brand,  bluntly. 
"  Sorry  that  your  daughter  is  not  to  marry  a  beggar  ? " 

"  I  must  decline  to  have  Natalie  introduced  into  this  subject 
in  any  way  whatever,"  said  Mr.  Lind. 

"  Let  us  drop  the  subject,  then,"  said  Brand,  in  a  friendly 
way,  for  he  was  determined  to  have  some  further  enlighten- 
ment. "  Now  about  Natalie.  May  I  ask  you  plainly  if  you 
have  any  objection  to  a  marriage  between  her  and  myself  ? " 

The  answer  was  prompt  and  emphatic. 

"I  have  every  objection.  I  have  said  before  that  it  would 
be  inexpedient  in  many  ways.  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of." 

Brand  was  not  surprised  by  this  refusal ;  he  had  expected 
it ;  he  had  put  the  question  as  a  matter  of  form. 

"  Now  one  other  question,  Mr.  Lind,  and  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied," said  he,  watching  the  face  of  the  man  opposite  him  with 
a  keen  scrutiny.  "  Was  it  ever  your  intention,  at  any  time,  to 
give  your  consent  to  our  marriage,  in  any  circumstances  what- 
ever ?  " 

Ferdinand  Lind  was  an  admirable  actor. 


"  Is  it  worth  while  discussing  imaginary  things — possibili- 
ties only  ? "  he  said,  carelessly. 

"  Because,  you  see,"  continued  Brand,  who  was  not  to  be 
driven  from  his  point,  "  any  plain  and  ordinary  person,  look- 
ing from  the  outside  at  the  whole  affair,  might  imagine  that 
you  had  been  merely  temporizing  with  me,  neither  giving  nor 
refusing  your  consent,  until  I  had  handed  over  this  money  ; 
and  that,  as  you  had  never  intended  to  let  your  daughter 
marry,  that  was  the  reason  why  you  did  not  care  whether  I  re- 
tained a  penny  of  my  own  property  or  not." 

Lind  did  not  flinch  for  an  instant ;  nor  was  there  the 
slightest  trace  of  surprise,  or  annoyance,  or  resentment  in 
his  look.  He  rose  and  pushed  back  his  chair. 

"  Suppose  we  let  outsiders  think  what  they  please,  Mr. 
Brand,"  said  he,  with  absolute  composure.  "  We  have  more 
serious  matters  to  attend  to." 

Brand  rose  also.  He  guessed  what  was  coming,  and  he 
had  nerved  himself  to  face  it.  The  whole  course  of  this 
man's  action  was  now  as  clear  to  him  as  noonday. 

"  I  have  been  considering  further  the  suggestion  I  men- 
tioned to  you  the  other  day,  that  you  should  go  over  to  some 
of  the  big  American  cities,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  almost  with  an 
indifferent  air  as  he  turned  over  some  papers.  "  We  are 
strong  there  ;  you  will  find  plenty  of  friends  ;  but  what  is 
wanted  is  cohesion,  arrangement,  co-operation.  Now  you 
say  yourself  this  Mr.  Molyneux  would  be  an  admirable  suc- 
cessor to  you  in  the  North  ?  " 

"  None  better,"  said  Brand.  This  sentence  of  banish- 
ment had  been  foreseen  ;  he  knew  how  to  encounter  it  when 
it  came. 

"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  it  would  be  advisable  then.  When 
could  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  could  start  to-night,"  he  said.  But  then,  despite  him- 
self, a  blush  of  embarrassment  mounted  to  his  forehead,  and 
he  added  quickly,  "  No  ;  not  to-night.  The  day  after  to- 
morrow." 

"  There  is  no  need  for  any  such  great  hurry,"  said  Mr. 
Lind,  with  his  complaisant  smile.  "  You  will  want  much  di- 
rection, many  letters.  Come,  shall  we  join  your  friend  in 
the  other  room  ?  " 

The  two  men,  apparently  on  the  best  of  terms,  went  back 
to  Molyneux,  and  the' talk  became  general.  George  Brand, 
as  he  sat  there,  kept  his  right  hand  shut  tight,  that  so  he 
Gould  press  the  ring  that  Natalie  had  given  him  ;  and  when 
he  thought  of  America,  it  was  almost  with  a  sense  of  relief. 


A  GOOD-NIGHT  MESSAGE.  201 

She  would  approve  ;  he  would  not  betray  his  promise  to  her. 
But  if  only  that  one  moment  were  over  in  which  he  should 
have  to  bid  her  farewell ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  GOOD-NIGHT  MESSAGE. 

BRAND  had  nerved  himself  for  that  interview  ;  he  had  de- 
termined to  betray  neither  surprise  nor  concern ;  he  was 
prepared  for  the  worst.  When  it  was  intimated  to  him  that 
hence-forth  his  life  was  to  be  lived  out  beyond  the  seas,  he 
had  appeared  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  Face  to  face 
with  his  enemy,  he  would  utter  no  protest.  Then,  had  he 
not  solemnly  promised  to  Natalie  that  nothing  in  the  world 
should  tempt  him  from  his  allegiance  ?  Why  should  he 
shrink  from  going  to  America,  or  prefer  London  to  Philadel- 
phia ?  He  had  entered  into  a  service  that  took  no  heed  of 
such  things. 

But  when  he  had  parted  from  Lind  and  Molyneux,  and 
got  out  into  the  sombre  glare  of  the  night-world  of  London, 
and  when  there  was  no  further  need  for  that  forced  com- 
posure, he  began  more  clearly  to  recognize  his  position,  and 
his  heart  grew  heavy.  This,  then,  was  the  end  of  those  vis- 
ions of  loving  companionship  and  constant  and  sustaining 
sympathy  with  which  he  had  dared  to  fill  the  future.  He 
had  thought  little  of  anything  that  might  be  demanded  from 
him  so  long  as  he  could  anticipate  Natalie's  approval,  and 
be  rewarded  with  a  single  glance  of  gratitude  from  the 
proud,  dark,  beautiful  eyes.  What  mattered  it  to  him  what 
became  of  himself,  what  circumstances  surrounded  them,  so 
long  as  he  and  she  were  together  ?  But  now  a  more  terrible 
sacrifice  than  any  he  had  dreamed  of  had  to  Be  made.  The 
lady  of  love  whom  the  Pilgrims  had  sworn  to  serve  was  prov- 
ing herself  inexorable  indeed  : 

"  — Is  she  a  queen,  having  great  gifts  to  give  ? 
— Yea,  these  ;  that  whoso  hath  seen  her  shall  not  live 
Except  to  serve  her  sorrowing,  with  strange  pain, 

Travail  and  bloodshedding  and  bitterer  tears ; 
And  when  she  bids  die  he  shall  surely  die. 
And  he  shall  leave  all  things  under  the  sky, 
And  go  forth  naked  under  sun  and  rain, 
And  work  and  wait  and  watch  out  all  his  years." 


202  SUNRISE. 

When  Lord  Evelyn  had  asked  him  whether  he  was  pre- 
pared to  go  to  America  alone,  he  had  clasped  the  ring  that 
Natalie  had  given  him,  and  answered  "  Yes."  But  that  was 
as  a  matter  of  theory.  It  was  what  he  might  do,  in  certain 
possible  circumstances.  Now  that  he  had  to  face  the  reality, 
and  bethink  him  of  the  necessity  of  taking  Natalie's  hand 
for  the  last  time,  his  heart  sank  within  him. 

He  walked  on  blindly  through  the  busy  streets,  seeing 
nothing  around  him,  His  memory  was  going  over  the  most 
trivial  incidents  connected  with  Natalie,  as  if  every  look  of 
hers,  every  word  she  had  uttered,  was  now  become  some- 
thing inexpressibly  precious.  Were  there  not  many  things 
he  could  carry  away  with  him  to  the  land  beyond  the  seas  ? 
No  distance  or  time  could  rob  him  of  the  remembrance  of 
that  night  at  the  opera — the  scent  of  white  rose — her  look  as 
she  gave  him  the  forget-me-nots.  Then  the  beautiful  shin- 
ing day  as  they  drew  near  to  Dover,  and  her  pride  about 
England,  and  the  loosened  curls  of  hair  that  blew  about  her 
neck.  On  the  very  first  evening  on  which  he  had  seen  her 
— she  sitting  at  the  table  and  bending  over  the  zither — her 
profile  touched  by  the  rose-tinted  light  from  the  shade  of  the 
candle — the  low,  rich  voice,  only  half  heard,  singing  the  old, 
familiar,  tender  Lorelei.  He  felt  the  very  touch  of  her  fin- 
gers on  his  arm  when  she  turned  to  him  with  reproving  eyes  : 
"  Is  that  the  way  you  answer  an  appeal  for  help  ?  "  That  poor 
devil  of  a  Kirski — what  had  become  of  him  ?  He  would 
find  out  from  Reitzei ;  and,  before  leaving  England,  would 
take  care  that  something  should  be  done  for  the  luckless 
outcast.  He  should  have  cause  to  remember  all  his  life-long 
that  Natalie  Lind  had  interfered  in  his  behalf. 

Without  knowing  well  how  he  got  there,  Brand  found 
himself  in  Curzon  Street.  He  walked  on,  perhaps  with 
some  vague  notion  that  he  might  meet  Natalie  herself,  until 
he  arrived  at  the  house.  It  was  quite  dark;  there  was  no 
light  in  any  of  the  windows ;  Anneli  had  not  even  lit  the 
gas-jet  in  the  narrow  hall.  He  turned  away  from  the  door 
that  he  felt  was  now  barred  against  him  forever,  and  walked 
back  to  Clarges  Street. 

Lord  Evelyn  was  out ;  the  man  did  not  know  when  he 
would  be  home  again.  So  Brand  turned  away  from  that 
door  also,  and  resumed  his  aimless  wanderings,  busy  with 
those  pictures  of  the  past.  At  length  he  got  down  to  Buck- 
ingham Street,  and  almost  mechanically  made  his  way  to- 
ward his  own  rooms. 


A  GOOD-NIGHT  MESSAGE.  „,       203 

He  had  reached  his  door,  however,  when  he  heard  some 
one  speaking  within. 

"  I  might  have  known,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  That  is  so 
like  Evelyn." 

It  was  indeed  Lord  Evelyn,  who  was  chatting  familiarly 
with  old  Waters.  But  the  moment  Brand  entered  he  ceased, 
and  a  look  of  anxiety,  and  even  alarm,  appeared  instantly  on 
the  fine,  sensitive,  expressive  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Brand  ?     Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  dropping  into  a  chair ;  "  only  tired 
— and  worried,  perhaps.  Waters,  get  me  a  biscuit  and  a 
glass  of  sherry.  Now,  when  I  think  of  it,  I  ought  to  feel 
tired — I  have  eaten  nothing  since  eight  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing." 

Lord  Evelyn  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Come  off  at  once,  Brand.  We  will  go  up  to  the  Strand 
and  get  you  something  to  eat.  Gracious  goodness,  it  is  nearly 
ten  o'clock  ! " 

"  No,  no,  never  mind.  I  have  something  to  talk  to  you 
about,  Evelyn." 

"  But  why  on  earth  had  Waters  no  dinner  waiting  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  tell  him — I  forgot.  Never  mind  ;  I  will  have 
some  supper  by-and-by.  I  called  on  you,  Evelyn,  about  half 
an  hour  ago  ;  I  might  have  known  you  would  be  here." 

Lord  Evelyn  paused  for  a  second  or  two,  while  Waters 
came  in  and  went  out  again.  Then  he  said, 

"  I  can  tell  by  your  face,  Brand,  that  something  has  hap- 
pened." 

"  Nothing  that  I  had  not  foreseen." 

"  Did  you  consent  or  refuse  ?  " 

"  I  refused." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Then,  as  I  knew  he  would,  he  suggested  that  I  might  as 
well  get  ready  to  start  for  America  as  soon  as  possible." 

Brand  was  speaking  in  a  light  and  scornful  way ;  but  his 
face  was  careworn,  and  his  eyes  kept  turning  to  the  windows 
and  the  dark  night  outside,  as  if  they  were  looking  at  some- 
thing far  away. 

"  About  Natalie  ? "  Lord  Evelyn  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  was  frank  enough.  He  dropped  all  those  round- 
about phrases  about  the  great  honor,  and  so  forth.  He  was 
quite  plain.  '  Not  to  be  thought  of.'  " 

Lord  Evelyn  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Brand,"  he  said  at  length ;  and  then  he 
continued  with  some  hesitation — "  Do  you  know — I  have 


204  SUNRISE. 

been  thinking  that — that  though  it's  a  very  extreme  thing 
for  a  man  to  give  up  his  fortune — a  very  extreme  thing — I 
can  quite  understand  how  the  proposal  looked  to  you  very 
monstrous  at  first — still,  if  you  put  that  in  the  balance  as 
against  a  man's  giving  up  his  native  country  and  the  woman 
whom  he  is  in  love  with — don't  you  see — the  happiness  of. 
people  of  so  much  more  importance  than  a  sum  of  money, 
however  large — " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Brand,  interrupting  him,  "there  is 
no  such  alternative — there  never  was  any  such  alternative. 
Do  you  not  think  I  would  rather  give  up  twenty  fortunes 
than  have  to  go  and  bid  good-bye  to  Natalie  ?  It  is  not  a 
question  of  money.  I  suspected  before — I  know  now — that 
Lind  never  meant  to  let  his  daughter  marry.  He  would  not 
definitely  say  no  to  me  while  he  thought  I  could  be  persuaded 
about  this  money  business ;  as  soon  as  I  refused  that,  he 
was  frank  and  explicit  enough.  I  see  the  whole  thing  clearly 
enough  now.  Well,  he  has  not  altogether  succeeded." 

His  eye  happened  to  light  on  the  ring  on  his  finger,  and 
the  frown  on  his  face  lifted  somewhat. 

"  If  I  could  only  forget  Lind  ;  if  I  could  forget  why  it  was 
that  I  had  to  go  to  America,  I  should  think  far  less  of  the 
pain  of  separation.  If  I  could  go  to  Natalie,  and  say,  *  Look 
at  what  we  must  do,  for  the  sake  of  something  greater  than 
our  own  wishes  and  dreams,'  then  I  think  I  could  bid  her 
good-bye  without  much  faltering ;  but  when  you  know  that  it 
is  unnecessary — that  you  are  being  made  the  victim  of  a 
piece  of  personal  revenge — how  can  you  look  forward  with  any 
great  enthusiasm  to  the  new  life  that  lies  before  you  ?  That 
is  what  troubles  me,  Evelyn." 

"  I  cannot  argue  the  matter  with  you,"  his  friend  said, 
looking  down,  and  evidently  much  troubled  himself.  "  I  can- 
not help  remembering  that  it  was  I  let  you  in  for  all  this — " 

"  Don't  say  that,  Evelyn,"  Brand  broke  in,  quickly.  "  Do 
you  think  I  would  have  it  otherwise  ?  Once  in  America,  I 
shall  no  doubt  forget  how  I  came  to  go  there.  I  shall  have 
something  to  do." 

"  I — I  was  going  to  say  that — that  perhaps  you  are  not 
quite  fair  to  Lind.  You  impute  motives  that  may  not  exist." 

Lord  Evelyn  flushed  a  little ;  it  was  almost  as  if  he  were 
excusing  or  defending  one  he  had  no  particular  wish  to  de- 
fend; but  all  the  same,  with  some  hesitation,  he  continued, 

"  Consider  Lind's  position.  Mind,  your  reading  of  his 
conduct  is  only  pure  assumption.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
he  would  be  really  and  extremely  surprised  if  he  knew  that 


A  GOOD-NIGHT  MESSAGE.  205 

you  fancied  he  had  been  allowing  personal  feelings  to  sway 
his  decision.  But  suppose  this — suppose  he  is  honestly  con- 
vinced that  you  would  be  of  great  service  in  America.  He 
has  seen  what  you  can  do  in  the  way  of  patient  persuading  of 
people.  I  know  he  has  plenty  around  him  who  can  do  the 
risky  business — men  who  have  been  adventurous  all  their 
lives — who  would  like  nothing  better  than  to  be  commis- 
sioned to  set  up  a  secret  printing-press  next  door  to  the 
Commissary  of  Police  in  St.  Petersburg.  I  say  he  has  plenty 
of  people  like  that ;  but  very  few  who  have  persistence  and 
patience  enough  to  do  what  you  have  been  doing  in  the 
north  of  England.  He  told  me  so  himself.  •  Very  well. 
Suppose  he  thinks  that  what  you  have  been  doing  this  man 
Molyneux  can  carry  on  ?  Suppose,  in  short,  that,  if  he  had 
no  daughter  at  all,  he  would  be  anxious  to  send  you  to  the 
States  ? " 

Brand  nodded.  There  was  no  harm  in  letting  his  friend 
have  his  theory. 

"  Very  well.  Now  suppose  that,  having  this  'daughter,  he 
would  rather  not  have  her  marry.  He  says  she  is  of  great 
service  to  him ;  and  his  wish  to  have  her  with  him  always 
would  probably  exaggerate  that  service,  unconsciously  to 
himself,  if  it  were  proposed  to  take  her  away.  That  is  only 
natural." 

Brand  again  assented. 

"  Very  well.  He  discovers  that  you  and  she  are  attached 
to  each  other.  Probably  he  does  not  consider  it  a  very  se- 
rious affair,  so  far;  but  he  knows  that  if  you  remain  in  Lon- 
don it  would  probably  become  so.  Now,  Natalie  is  a  girl  of 
firm  character ;  she  is  very  gentle,  but  she  is  not  a  fool.  If 
you  remained  in  London  she  would  probably  marry  you, 
whether  her  father  liked  it  or  not,  if  she  thought  it  was  right. 
He  knows  that ;  he  knows  that  the  girl  is  capable  of  acting 
on  her  own  judgment.  Now  put  the  two  things  together. 
Here  is  this  opportune  service  on  which  you  can  be  sent. 
That,  according  to  his  view,  will  be  a  good  thing  of  itself ;  it 
will  also  effectually  prevent  a  marriage  which  he  thinks  would 
be  inexpedient.  Don't  you  see  that  there  may  be  no  per- 
sonal revenge  or  malice  in  the  whole  affair  ?  He  may  con- 
sider he  is  acting  quite  rightly,  with  regard  to  the  best  inter- 
ests of  everybody  concerned." 

"  I  am  sick  of  him,  Evelyn — of  hearing  of  him — of  think- 
ing of  him,"  Brand  said,  impatiently.  "  Come,  let  us  talk  of 
something  else.  I  wish  the  whole  business  of  starting  for 
America  were  over,  and  I  had  only  the  future  to  think  about." 


206  SUNRISE. 

•  "  That  is  not  likely,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  gently.  "  You 
cannot  cut  yourself  away  from  everything  like  that.  There 
will  be  some  memories." 

Waters  here  appeared  with  a  tray,  and  speedily  placed  on 
the  table  a  lobster,  some  oysters,  and  a  bottle  of  Chablis. 

"  There  you  are,  Evelyn  ;  have  some  supper." 

"  Not  unless  you  have  some." 

"  By-and-by— " 

"  No,  now." 

So  the  two  friends  drew  in  their  chairs. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Lord  Evelyn — with  a  slight 
flush,  for  he  was  telling  a  lie — "  I  have  been  thinking  for 
some  time  back  I  should  like  to  go  to  America  for  a  year  or 
two.  There  are  some  political  phases  I  should  like  to  study." 

Brand  looked  at  him. 

"  You  never  thought  of  it  before  to-night.  But  it  is  like 
you  to  think  of  it  now." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  other,  hastily,  "  there  are 
points  of  great  interest  in  the  political  life  of  America  that 
one  could  only  properly  study  on  the  spot — hearing  the  vari- 
ous opinions,  don't  you  know — and  seeing  how  the  things 
practically  work.  I  should  have  gone  long  before  now,  but 
that  I  dreaded  the  passage  across.  When  do  you  go  ? " 

"  It  is  not  settled  yet." 

"  What  line  shall  you  go  by  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

Lord  Evelyn  paused  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said, 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  Brand." 

Well,  he  had  not  the  heart  even  to  protest ;  for  he  thorough- 
ly understood  the  generous  friendship  that  had  prompted 
such  an  offer.  He  might  remonstrate  afterward ;  now  he 
would  not.  On  the  contrary,  he  began  to  speak  of  his  ex- 
perience of  the  various  lines  ;  of  the  delight  of  the  voyage  to 
any  one  not  abnormally  sensitive  to  sea-sickness ;  of  the  hu- 
mors of  the  bagmen ;  of  the  occupations  and  amusements  on 
board ;  of  dolphins,  fog-horns,  icebergs,  rope-quoits,  grass- 
widows,  and  the  chances  of  poker.  It  was  all  a  holiday  ex- 
cursion, then?  The  two  friends  lit  their  cigars  and  went 
back  to  their  arm-chairs.  The  tired  and  haggard  look  on 
George  Brand's  face  had  for  the  moment  been  banished. 

But  by-and-by  he  said,  rathed  absently, 

"  I  suppose,  hereafter,  Natalie  and  you  will  have  many  a 
talk  over  what  has  happened.  And  you  will  go  there  just  as 
usual,  and  spend  the  evening,  and  hear  her  read,  or  listen  to 
her  singing  with  the  zither.  It  seems  strange.  Perhaps  she 


A  GOOD-NIGHT  MESSAGE.  207 

will  be  able  to  forget  altogether — to  cut  this  unhappy  episode 
out  of  her  life,  as  it  were."  Then  he  added,  as  if  speaking 
to  himself,  "  No,  she  is  not  likely  to  forget." 

Lord  Evelyn  looked  up. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  does  she  know  about  your  going  ? " 

"  I  presume  not — not  yet.  But  I  must  see  her  and  tell  her 
unless,  indeed,  Lind  should  try  to  prevent  that  too.  He 
might  lay  injunctions  on  her  that  she  was  not  to  see  me 
again." 

"  That  is  true,"  his  friend  said.  "  He  might  command. 
But  the  question  is  whether  she  would  obey.  I  have  known 
Natalie  Lind  longer  than  you  have.  She  is  capable  of  think- 
ing and  acting  for  herself." 

Nothing  further  was  said  on  this  point ;  they  proceeded  to 
talk  of  other  matters.  It  was  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterward — close  on  eleven  o'clock — that  Waters  knocked  at 
the  door  and  then  came  into  the  room. 

"  A  letter  for  you,  sir." 

A  quick  glance  at  the  envelope  startled  him. 

"  How  did  you  get  it  ?  "  he  said  instantly. 

"  A  girl  brought  it,  sir,  in  a  cab.  She  is  gone  again. 
There  was  no  answer,  she  said." 

Waters  withdrew.  Brand  hastily  opened  the  letter,  and 
read  the  following  lines,  written  in  pencil,  apparently  with  a 
trembling  hand  : 

"  DEAREST, — I  spent  this  evening  with  Madame  Potecki. 
My  father  came  for  me,  and  on  the  way  home  has  told  me 
something  of  what  has  occurred.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of 
telling  me  that  you  and  I  must  not  meet  again — never,  never. 
My  own,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  pass  a  single  night,  or  a  sin- 
gle hour,  thinking  such  a  thing  possible.  Have  I  not  prom- 
ised to  you  ?  When  it  is  your  wish  to  see  me,  come  to  me  :  I 
am  yours.  Good-night,  and  Heaven  guard  you  ! 

"  NATALIE." 

George  Brand  turned  to  his  friend. 

"  This,"  said  he  ;  but  his  lip  trembled,  and  he  stopped  for 
a  second.  Then  he  continued  :  "  This  is  a  message  from  her, 
Evelyn.  And  I  know  what  poor  old  Calabressa  would  say  of 
it,  if  he  were  here.  He  would  say  :  '  This  is  what  might  have 
been  expected  from  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi ! '  " 

"  She  knows,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  still  looking  at  the  hastily  written  lines  in 
pencil,  "  and  it  is  as  you  imagined.  Her  father  has  told  her 


208  SUNKISE. 

we  must  not  see  each  other  again,  and  she  has  refused  to  be 
bound  by  any  such  injunction.  I  rather  fancy  she  thinks  he 
must  have  conveyed  the  same  intimation  to  me  ;  at  all  events, 
she  has  written  at  once  to  assure  me  that  she  will  not  break 
her  promise  to  me.  It  was  kindly  meant ;  was  it  not  ?  I 
wish  Anneli  had  waited  for  a  second." 

He  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket-book;  it 
was  one  more  treasure  he  should  carry  with  him  to  America. 
But  when,  later  on,  Evelyn  had  left,  he  took  it  out  again,  and 
re-read  again  and  again  the  irregular,  hurried,  pencilled  lines, 
and  thought  of  the  proud,  quick,  generous  spirit  that  had 
prompted  them.  And  was  she  still  awake  and  thinking  ? 
And  could  her  heart  hear,  through  the  silence  of  the  night, 
the  message  of  love  and  gratitude  that  he  sent  her  ?  "  Good- 
night, and  Heaven  guard  you!"  It  had  been  a  troubled  and 
harassing  day  for  him  ;  but  this  tender  good-night  message 
came  in  at  the  close  of  it  like  a  strain  of  sweet  music  that  he 
would  carry  with  him  into  the  land  of  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

SOME   TREASURES. 

THE  next  morning  Natalie  was  sitting  alone  in  the  little 
dining-room,  dressed  ready  to  go  out.  Perhaps  she  had  been 
crying  a  little  by  herself ;  but  at  all  events,  when  she  heard 
the  sound  of  some  one  being  admitted  at  the  front-door  and 
coming  into  the  passage,  she  rose,  with  a  flush  of  pleasure 
and  relief  appearing  on  her  pale  and  saddened  face.  It  was 
Madame  Potecki. 

"  Ah,  it  is  so  good  of  you  to  come  early,"  said  Natalie  to 
her  friend,  with  a  kind  of  forced  cheerfulness.  "  Shall  we 
start  at  once  ?  I  have  been  thinking  and  thinking  myself  into 
a  state  of  misery ;  and  what  is  the  use  of  that?  " 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,"  said  the  prompt  littte  music-mis- 
tress, taking  both  her  hands,  and  regarding  her  with  her  clear, 
shrewd  blue  eyes.  "  No ;  you  are  not  looking  well.  The 
walk  will  do  you  good,  my  dear.  Come  away,  then." 

But  Natalie  paused  in  the  passage,  with  some  appearance 
of  embarrassment.  Anneli  was  standing  by  the  door. 

"  Remember  this,  Anneli ;  if  any  one  calls  and  wishes  to 
see  me — and  particularly  wishes  to  see  me— you  will  not  say, 
*  My  mistress  is  gone  out ;  '  you  will  say,  '  My  mistress  is 


SOME  TREASURES.  209 

gone  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum  with  Madame  Poteck-i.' 
Do  you  understand  that,  Anneli  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Fraulein  ;  certainly." 

Then  they  left,  going  by  way  of  the  Park.  And  the  morn- 
ing was  fresh  and  bright ;  the  energetic  little  Polish  lady  was 
more  talkative  and  cheerful  than  ever;  the  girl  with  her  had 
only  to  listen,  with  as  much  appearance  of  interest  as  was 
possible,  considering  that  her  thoughts  were  so  apt  to  wonder 
away  elsewhither. 

"  My  dear,  what  a  lovely  morning  for  us  to  go  and  look  at 
my  treasures  !  The  other  day  I  was  saying  to  myself,  *  There 
is  my  adopted  daughter  Natalie,  and  I  have  not  a  farthing  to 
leave  her.  What  is  the  use  of  adopting  a  child  if  you  have 
nothing  to  leave  her  ?  Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  Never  mind ; 
I  will  teach  her  my  theory  of  living ;  that  will  make  her  richer 
than  a  hundred  legacies  will  do/  Dear,  dear !  that  was  all 
the  legacy  my  poor  husband  left  to  me." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  ever  marry  a  man  who  has  anything  to  do  with 
politics,  my  child.  Many  a  time  my  poor  Potecki  used  to 
say  to  me,  '  My  angel,  cultivate  contentment ;  you  may  have 
to  live  on  it  some  day.'  " 

"  And  you  have  taken  his  advice,  madame  ;  you  are  very 
content." 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  have  my  theory.  They  think  that  I 
am  poor.  It  is  poor  Madame  Potecki,  who  earns  her  solitary 
supper  by  '  One,  two,  three,  four ;  one,  two,  three,  four  ; '  who 
has  not  a  treasure  in  the  world — except  a  young  Hungarian 
lady,  who  is  almost  a  daughter  to  her.  Well,  well ;  but  you 
know  my  way  of  thinking,  my  dear,  you  laugh  at  it ;  I  know 
you  do.  You  say,  *  That  mad  little  Madame  Potecki.'  But 
some  day  I  will  convince  you." 

"  I  am  willing  to  be  taught  now,  madame — seriously.  Is 
it  not  wise  to  be  content  ? " 

"  I  am  more  than  content,  my  dear ;  I  am  proud,  I  am  vain. 
When  I  think  of  all  the  treasures  that  belong  to  the  public, 
and  to  me  as  one  of  the  public — the  Turner  landscapes  iri 
the  National  Gallery;  the  books  and  statues  in  the  British 
Museum  ;  the  bronzes  and  china  and  jewellery  at  South 
Kensington — do  you  not  think,  my  dear,  that  I  am  thankful 
I  have  no  paltry  little  collection  in  my  own  house  that  I  should 
be  ashamed  of  ?  Then  look  at  the  care  that  is  taken  of  them. 
I  have  no  risk.  I  am  not  disheartened  for  a  clay  because  a 
servant  has  broken  my  best  piece  of  Nankin  blue.  I  have 
no  trouble  and  no  thought ;  it  is  only  when  I  have  a  little  hol- 
14 


210  SUNRISE. 

iday  that  I  say  to  myself,  *  Well,  shall  I  go  and  see  my  Rem- 
branclts  ?  Or  shall  I  look  over  my  cases  of  Etruscan  rings  ? 
Or  shall  I  go  and  feast  my  eyes  on  the  bleu  de  roi  of  a  piece 
of  jewelled  Sevres  ? '  Oh,  my  love  !  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy.  Her  volubility  had  out- 
run itself  and  got  choked. 

"I  will  show  you  three  vases,"  said  she,  presently,  in  al- 
most a  solemn  way — "  I  will  show  you  three  vases,  in  white 
and  brown  crackle,  and  put  all  the  color  in  the  whole  of  my 
collection  to  shame.  My  dear,  I  have  never  seen  in  the 
world  anything  so  lovely — the  soft  cream-white  ground,  the 
rich  brown  decoration — the  beautiful,  bold,  graceful  shape  ; 
and  they  only  cost  sixty  pounds ! — sixty  pounds  for  three, 
and  they  are  worth  a  kingdom  !  Why —  But  really,  my  dear 
Natalie,  you  walk  too  fast.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  being  marched 
off  to  prison  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  ! "  said  the  girl,  laughing.  "  I  am 
always  forgetting ;  and  papa  scolds  me  often  enough  for  it." 

"  Have  you  heard  what  I  told  you  about  those  priceless 
vases  in  the  South  Kensington  ?  " 

"  I  am  most  anxious  to  see  them,  I  assure  you." 

"  My  blue-and-white,"  Madame  Potecki  continued,  serious- 
ly, "  I  am  afraid  is  not  always  of  the  best.  There  are  plenty 
of  good  pieces,  it  is  true  ;  but  they  are  not  the  finest  feature 
of  the  collection.  Oh  !  the  Benares  brocades — I  had  forgot- 
ten them.  Ah,  my  dear,  these  will  make  you  open  your 
eyes ! " 

"  But  don't  you  get  bewildered,  madame,  with  having  to 
think  of  so  many  possessions  ?  "  said  Natalie,  respectfully. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way ;  "  I  take 
them  one  by  one.  I  pay  a  morning  call  here,  a  morning  call 
there,  when  I  have  no  appointments,  just  to  see  that  every- 
thing is  going  on  well." 

Presently  she  said, 

"  Ah,  well,  my  dear,  we  are  poor  weak  creatures.  Here 
and  there,  in  my  wanderings  I  have  met  things  that  I  almost 
coveted ;  but  see  what  an  impossible,  monstrous  collection 
they  would  make  !  Let  me  think,  now.  The  Raphael  at 
Dresden ;  two  Titian  portraits  in  the  Louvre  ;  the  Venus  of 
Milo — not  the  Medici  one  at  all ;  I  would  not  take  it ;  I  swear 
I  would  not  accept  it,  that  trivial  little  creature  with  the  yel- 
low skin  ! " 

"  My  dear  friend,  the  heavens  will  fall  on  you  !  "  her  com- 
panion exclaimed. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  little  music-mistress,  reflective- 


SOME  TREASURES.  211 

ly.  "  I  have  not  completed  my  collection.  There  is  a  Holy 
Family  of  Botticelli's — I  forget  where  I  saw  it.  And  the  bust 
of  the  Empress  Messalina  in  the  Uffizi :  did  you  ever  notice 
it,  Natalie  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Do  not  forget  it  when  you  are  in  Florence  again.  You 
won't  believe  any  of  the  stories  about  her  when  you  see  the 
beautiful  refined  face  ;  only  don't  forget  to  remark  how  flat 
the  top  of  her  head  is.  Well,  where  are  we,  my  dear  ?  The 
bronze  head  of  the  goddess  in  the  Castellani  collection  :  I 
would  have  that ;  and  the  fighting  Temeraire.  Will  these 
do  ?  But  then,  my  dear,  even  if  one  had  all  these  things, 
see  what  a  monstrous  collection  they  would  make.  What 
should  I  do  with  them  in  my  lodgings,  even  if  I  had  room  ? 
No  ;  I  must  be  content  with  what  I  have." 

By  this  time  they  had  got  down  into  South  Kensington 
and  were  drawing  near  one  of  Madame  Potecki's  great  treas- 
ure houses. 

"  Then,  you  see,  my  dear  Natalie,"  she  continued,  "  my 
ownership  of  these  beautiful  things  we  are  going  to  see  is  not 
selfish.  It  can  be  multiplied  indefinitely.  You  may  have  it 
too  ;  any  one  may  have  it,  and  all  without  the  least  anxiety  !  " 

"  That  is  very  pleasant  also,"  said  the  girl,  who  was  paying 
less  heed  now.  The  forced  cheerfulness  that  had  marked 
her  manner  at  starting  had  in  great  measure  left  her.  Her 
look  was  absent  ;  she  blindly  followed  her  guide  through  the 
little  wicket,  and  into  the  hushed  large  hall. 

The  silence  was  grateful  to  her ;  there  was  scarcely  any 
one  in  the  place.  While  Madame  Potecki  busied  herself  with 
some  catalogue  or  other,  the  girl  turned  aside  into  a  recess, 
to  look  at  a  cast  of  the  effigy  on  the  tomb  of  Queen  Eleanor 
of  Castile.  A  tombstone  stills  the  air  around  it.  Even  this 
gilt  plaster  figure  was  impressive ;  it  had  the  repose  of  the 
dead. 

But  she  had  not  been  standing  there  for  a  couple  of  seconds 
when  she  heard  a  well-known  voice  behind  her. 

"  Natalie  !  " 

She  knew.  There  was  neither  surprise  nor  shamefaced- 
ness  in  her  look  when  she  turned  and  saw  George  Brand  be- 
fore her.  Her  eyes  were  as  fearless  as  ever  when  they  met 
his  ;  and  they  were  glad,  too,  with  a  sudden  joy ;  and  she 
said,  quickly, 

"  Ah,  I  thought  you  would  come.     I  told  Anneli." 

"  It  was  kind  of  you — and  brave — to  let  me  come  to  see 
you." 


212  SUNRISE. 

"  Kind?  "  she  said.     "  How  could  I  do  otherwise  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  looking  tired,  Natalie." 

"  I  did  not  sleep  much  last  night.     I  was  thinking." 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes;  she  impatiently  brushed 
them  aside. 

"  I  know  what  you  were  thinking.  That  is  why  I  came  so 
early  to  see  you.  You  were  blaming  yourself  for  what  has 
happened.  That  is  not  right.  You  are  not  to  blame  at  all. 
Do  you  think  I  gave  you  that  promise  for  nothing  ?  " 

"  You  were  always  like  that,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Very  generous  and  unselfish.  Yes,  I — I — was  miserable  ; 
I  thought  if  you  had  never  known  me — " 

"  If  I  had  never  known  you  !  You  think  that  would  be  a 
desirable  thing  for  me  ! — " 

But  at  this  moment  the  hurried,  anxious,  half-whispered 
conversation  had  to  cease,  for  Madame  Potecki  came  up. 
Nor  was  she  surprised  to  find  Mr.  Brand  there.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  said  that  her  time  was  limited,  and  that  she  could 
not  expect  other  people  to  care  for  old  porcelain  as  much  as 
she  did  ;  and  if  Mr.  Brand  would  take  her  dear  daughter 
Natalie  to  see  some  pictures  in  the  rooms  up-stairs,  she  would 
come  and  find  her  out  by-and-by. 

"Not  at  all,  dear  madame,"  said  Natalie,  with  some 
slight  flush.  "  No.  We  will  go  with  you  to  see  the  three  won- 
derful vases." 

So  they  went,  and  saw  the  three  crackle  vases,  and  many 
another  piece  of  porcelain  and  enamel  and  bronze  ;  but  al- 
ways the  clever  little  Polish  woman  took  care  that  she  should 
be  at  some  other  case,  so  that  she  could  not  overhear  what 
these  two  had  to  say  to  each  other.  And  they  had  plenty  to 
say. 

"  Why,  Natalie,  where  is  your  courage  ?  What  is  the  going 
to  America  ?  It  cannot  be  for  ever  and  ever." 

"  But  even  then,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  hesitating  voice.  "  If 
you  were  never  to  see  me  again,  you  would  blame  me  for  it 
all.  You  would  regret." 

"  How  can  I  regret  that  my  life  was  made  beautiful  to  me, 
if  only  for  a  time  ?  It  was  worth  nothing  to  me  before. 
And  you  are  forgetting  all  about  the  ring,  and  my  promise  to 
you." 

This  light  way  of  talking  did  not  at  all  deceive  her.  What 
had  been  torturing  her  all  the  night  long  was  the  fancy,  the 
suspicion,  that  her  father  was  sending  her  lover  to  America, 
not  solely  with  a  view  to  the  work  he  should  have  to  under- 
take there,  but  to  insure  a  permanent  separation  between 


SOME  TREASURES.  213 

herself  and  him.  That  was  the  cruel  bit  of  it.  And  she 
more  than  ever  admired  the  manliness  of  this  man,  because  he 
would  make  no  complaint  to  her.  He  had  uttered  no  word 
of  protest,  for  fear  of  wounding  her.  He  did  not  mention 
her  father  to  her  at  all ;  but  merely  treated  this  project  of  go- 
ing to  America  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  his  duty  that  had  to  be 
cheerfully  accepted. 

"  After  I  have  once  said  good-bye  to  you  Natalie  "  said  he, 
"  it  will  not  be  so  bad  for  me.  I  shall  have  my  work." 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  she  asked,  with  rather  a  white  face. 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  It  may  be  a  matter  of  days.  Ycu 
will  let  me  see  you  again,  my  darling— soon  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  here  every  morning,  if  you  wish  it "  she  an- 
swered. 

"  To-morrow,  then  ? " 

"To-morrow,  at  eleven.  Anneli  will  come  with  me.  I 
should  have  waited  in  on  the  hope  of  seeing  you  this  morning ; 
but  it  was  an  old  engagement  with  Madame  Potecki.  Ah, 
how  good  she  is  !  Do  you  see  how  she  pretends  to  be  inter- 
ested in  those  things  ?  " 

"  I  will,  send  her  a  present  of  some  old  china  before  I 
leave  England,"  said  Brand. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Natalie,  with  a  faint  smile  appearing  on  the 
sad  face.  "  It  would  destroy  her  theory.  She  does  not  care 
for  anything  at  home  so  long  as  she  possesses  these  public 
treasures.  She  is  very  content.  Indeed,  she  earns  enough 
to  be  charitable.  She  has  many  poor  dependents." 

By-and-by  Madame  Potecki,  with  great  evident  reluctance, 
confessed  that  she  had  to  return,  as  one  of  her  pupils  would 
be  at  her  house  by  half-past  twelve.  But  would  not  Mr. 
Brand  take  her  dear  adopted  child  to  see  some  of  the  pic- 
tures ?  It  was  a  pity  that  she  should  be  dragged  away,  and 
so  forth. 

But  Natalie  promptly  put  an  end  to  these  suggestions  by 
saying  that  she  would  prefer  to  return  with  Madame  Potecki ; 
and,  it  being  now  past  twelve,  as  soon  a's  they  got  outside 
she  engaged  a  cab.  George  Brand  saw  them  off,  and  then 
returned  into  the  building.  He  wished  to  look  again  at  the 
objects  she  had  looked  at,  to  recollect  every  word  she  had  ut- 
tered ;  to  recall  the  very  tones  in  which  she  had  spoken. 
And  this  place  was  so  hushed  and  quiet. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  occupants  of  the  cab  were  journeying 
northward,  Natalie  took  occasion  to  say  to  her  companion, 
with  something  of  a  heightened  color, 

"  You  must  not  imagine,  dear  madame,  that  I  expected  to 


214  SISNKISE. 

see  Mr.  Brand  at  the  Museum  when  I  promised  to  go  with 
you." 

"  But  what  if  you  had  expected,  my  child  ?  "  said  the  good- 
natured  music-mistress.  "What  harm  is  there?" 

"  But  this  morning  I  did  expect  him  to  come,  and  that  is 
why  I  left  the  message  with  Anneli,"  continued  the  girl. 
"  Because,  do  you  know,  madame,  he  is  going  to  America ; 
and  when  he  goes  I  may  not  see  him  for  many  years." 

"  My  child  !  "  the  demonstrative  little  woman  exclaimed, 
catching  hold  of  the  girl's  hand. 

But  Natalie  was  not  inclined  to  be  sympathetic  at  this  mo- 
ment. 

"Now  I  wish  you,  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  she  continued 
in  a  firm  voice,  "  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  would  rather  not  speak 
to  my  father  about  Mr.  Brand.  I  wish  you  to  tell  him  for  me 
that  so  long  as  Mr.  Brand  remains  in  England  I  shall  con- 
tinue to  see  him  ;  and  that  as  I  do'not  choose  he  should  come 
to  my  father's  house,  I  shall  see  him  as  I  saw  him  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  My  love,  my  love,  what  a  frightful  duty !  Is  it  neces- 
sary ? '! 

"  It  is  necessary  that  my  father  should  know,  certainly." 

"  But  what  responsibility  !  " 

"You  have  no  responsibility  whatever.  Anneli  will  go 
with  me.  All  that  I  ask  of  you,  dear  Madame  Potecki,  is  to 
take  the  message  to  my  father.  You  will ;  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  More  than  that  I  will  do  for  you,"  said  the  little  woman, 
boldly.  "  I  see  there  is  unhappiness ;  you  are  suffering,  my 
child.  Well,  I  will  plunge  into  it ;  I  will  see  your  father  :  this 
cannot  be  allowed.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  interfere — who 
knows  better  than  I  ?  But  to  sit  near  you  is  to  be  inspired  ; 
to  touch  your  hand  is  to  gain  the  courage  of  a  giant.  Yes,  I 
will  speak  to  your  father  ;  all  shall  be  put  right." 

The  girl  scarcely  heard  her. 

"  There  is  another  thing  I  would  ask  of  you,"  she  said, 
slowly  and  wistfully,  "  but  not  here.  May  I  come  to  you 
when  the  lesson  is  over  ?  " 

"  At  two :  yes." 

So  it  was  that  Natalie  called  on  her  friend  shortly  after  two 
o'clock  and  was  shown  into  the  little  parlor.  She  was 
rather  pale.  She  sat  down  at  one  side  of  the  table. 

"I  wished  to  ask  your  advice,  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  her  eyes  down.  "  Now  you 
must  suppose  a  case.  You  must  suppose  that — that  two  peo- 
ple love  each  other — better — better  than  anything  else  in  the 


IN  A  GARDEN  A  T  POSILIPO.  215 

world,  and  that  they  are  ready  to  sacrifice  a  great  deal  for 
each  other.  Well,  the  man  is  ordered  away  !  it  is  a  banish- 
ment from  his  own  country,  perhaps  forever ;  and  he  is  very 
brave  about  it,  and  will  not  complain.  Now  you  must  sup- 
pose that  the  girl  is  very  miserable  about  his  going  away, 
and  blames  herself ;  and  perhaps — perhaps  wishes — to  do 
something  to  show  she  understands  his  nobleness — his  devo- 
tion ;  and  she  would  do  anything  in  the  world,  Madame 
Potecki — to  prove  her  love  to  him — " 

"  But,  child,  child,  why  do  you  tremble  so  ? " 

"  I  wish  you  to  tell  me,  Madame  Potecki — I  wish  you  to  tell 
me — whether — you  would  consider  it  unwomanly — unmaidenly 
— for  her  to  go  and  say  to  him,  '  You  are  too  brave  and  un- 
selfish to  ask  me  to  go  with  you.  Now  I  offer  myself  to  you. 
If  you  must  go,  why  not  I — your  wife  ?  " 

Madame  Potecki  started  up  in  great  alarm. 

"  Natalie,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  only — wished  to — to  ask — what  you  would  think." 

She  was  very  pale,  and  her  lips  were  tremulous ;  but  she 
did  not  break  down.  Madame  Potecki  was  apparently  far 
more  agitated  than  she  was. 

"  My  child,  my  child,  I  am  afraid  you  are  on  the  brink  of 
some  wild  thing  !  " 

"  Is  that  that  I  have  repeated  to  you  what  a  girl  ought  to 
do  ?  "  Natalie  said,  almost  calmly.  "  Do  you  think  it  is  what 
my  mother  would  have  done,  Madame  Potecki  ?  They  have 
told  me  she  was  a  brave  woman." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IN   A   GARDEN   AT   POSILIPO. 

" — Prends  mon  cceur,  me  dit-elle, 
Oui,  mais  a  la  chapelle, 
Sois  mon  petit. .  .  . 
— Plait-il 
Ton  petit  ? 
—Sois  mon  petit  mari !  " 

— IT  was  Calabressa  who  was  gayly  humming  to  himself  ; 
and  it  was  well  that  he  could  amuse  himself  with  his  chansons 
and  his  cigarettes,  for  his  friend  Edwards  was  proving  any- 
thing but  an  attentive  companion.  The  tall,  near-sighted, 
blond-faced  man  from  the  British  Museum  was  far  too  much 


216  SUNRISE. 

engrossed  by  the  scene  around  him.  They  were  walking 
along  the  quays  at  Naples ;  and  it  so  happened  that  at  this 
moment  all  the  picturesque  squalor  and  lazy  life  of  the  place 
were  lit  up  by  the  glare  reflected  from  a  wild  and  stormy  sun- 
set. The  tall,  pink-fronted  houses  ;  the  mules  and  oxen  with 
their  brazen  yokes  and  tinkling  bells ;  the  fruit-sellers,  and 
fish-sellers,  and  water-carriers,  in  costumes  of  many  hues  ;  the 
mendicant  friars  with  their  cloak  and  hood  of  russet-brown  ; 
the  priests  black  and  clean-shaven  ;  the  groups  of  women, 
swarthy  of  face,  with  head-dresses  of  red  or  yellow.,  clustered 
round  the  stalls  ;  the  children,  in  rags  of  brown,  and  scarlet, 
and  olive-green,  lying  about  the  pavement  as  if  artists  had 
posed  them  there — all  these  formed  a  picture  which  was  al- 
most bewildering  in  its  richness  of  color,  and  was  no  doubt 
rendered  all  the  more  brilliant  because  of  the  powerful  con- 
trast with  the  dark  and  driven  sea.  For  the  waters  out  there 
were  racing  in  before  a  stiff  breeze,  and  springing  high  on  the 
fortresses  and  rocks  ;  and  the  clouds  overhead  were  seething 
and  twisting,  with  many  a  sudden  flash  of  orange  ;  and  then, 
far  away  beyond  all  this  color  and  motion  and  change,  rose 
the  vast  and  gloomy  bulk  of  Vesuvius,  overshadowed  and 
thunderous,  as  if  the  mountain  were  charged  with  a  coming 
storm. 

Calabressa  grew  impatient,  despite  his  careless  song. 

"  —Me  seras  tu  fidele 

— Comme  une  tourterelle. 
— Eh  bieu,  ca  va.  .  . . 
Ca  va! 
— Ca  me  val 
— Comme  ca,  ca  me  va ! 

— Diable,  Monsieur  Edouarts !  You  are  very  silent.  You 
do  not  know  where  we  are  going,  perhaps  ? " 

Edwards  started,  as  if  he  were  waking  from  a  reverie. 

"  Oh  yes,  Signor  Calabressa,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  likely  to 
forget  that.  Perhaps  I  think  more  seriously  about  it  than  you. 
To  you  it  is  nothing.  But  I  cannot  forget,  you  see,  that  you 
and  I  are  practically  conniving  at  a  murder." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  dear  friend !  "  said  Calabressa,  glancing 
round.  "  Be  discreet !  And  what  a  foolish  phrase,  too ! 
You — you  whose  business  is  merely  to  translate .;  to  preach  ; 
to  educate  a  poor  devil  of  a  Russian — what  have  you  to  do 
with  it  ?  And  to  speak  of  murder !  Bah !  You  do  not  un- 
derstand the  difference,  then,  between  killing  a  man  as  an  act 
of  private  anger  and  revenge,  and  executing  a  man  for  crimes 


IN  A  GARDEN  AT  POSILIPO. 


217 


against  society  ?     My  good  friend  Edouarts,  you  have  lived 
all  your  life  among  books,  but  you  have  not  learned  any  logic 


— no 


i  » 


Edwards  was  not  inclined  to  go  into  any  abstract  argu- 
ment. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  have  been  appointed  to  do,"  he  said, 
curtly ;  "  but  that  cannot  prevent  my  wishing  that  it  had  not 
to  be  done  at  all."  . 

"  And  who  knows  ?  "  said  Calabressa,  lightly.  "  Perhaps, 
if  you  are  so  fearful  about  your  small  share,  your  very  little 
share— it  is  no  more  than  that  of  the  garcon  who  helps  one 
on  with  his  coat :  is  he  accessary,  too,  if  a  rogue  has  to  be 
punished? — is  he  responsible  for  the  sentence,  also,  if  he 
brushes  the  boots  of  the  judge  ? — or  the  servant  of  the  court 
who  sweeps  out  the  room,  is  he  guilty  if  there  is  a  miscar- 
riage of  justice  ?  No,  no ;  my  dear  friend  Edouarts,  do  not 
alarm  yourself.  Then,  I  was  saying,  perhaps  it  may  not  be 
necessary,  after  all.  You  perceived,  my  friend,  that  when 
the  proposal  of  his  eminence  the  Cardinal  was  mentioned,  the 
Secretary  Granaglia  smiled,  and  I,  thoughtless,  laughed. 
You  perceived  it,  did  you  not  ?  " 

By  this  time  they  were  in  the  Chiaja,  beyond  the  Villa  Reale ; 
and  there  were  fewer  people  about.  Calabressa  stopped  and 
confronted  his  companion.  For  the  purposes  of  greater  em- 
phasis, he  rested  his  right  elbow  in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand, 
while  his  forefinger  was  at  the  point  of  his  nose. 

"  What  ?  "  said  he,  in  this  striking  attitude,  "what  if  we  were 
both  fools — ha?  The  Secretary  Granaglia  and  myself — what 
if  we  were  both  fools  ?  " 

Calabressa  abandoned  his  pose,  linked  his  arm  within  that 
of  his  companion,  and  walked  on  with  him. 

"  Come,  I  will  implant  something  in  your  mind.  I  will 
throw  out  a  fancy  ;  it  may  take  root  and  flourish  ;  if  not,  who 
is  the  worse  ?  Now,  if  the  Council  were  really  to  entertain 
that  proposal  of  Zaccatelli  ?  " 

He  regarded  his  friend  Edouarts. 

"  You  observed,  I  say,  that  Granaglia  smiled  :  to  him  it  was 
ludicrous.  I  laughed  :  to  me  it  was  farcical — the  chatter  of 
a  bavard.  The  Pope  become  the  patron  of  a  secret  society  ! 
The  priests  become  our  friends  and  allies  !  Very  well,  my 
friend  ;  but  listen.  The  little  minds  see  what  is  absurd  ;  the 
great  minds  are  serious.  Granaglia  is  a  little  devil  of  courage ; 
but  he  is  narrow  ;  he  is  practical ;  he  has  no  imagination.  I : 
what  am  I  ? — careless,  useless,  also  a  bavard,  if  you  will.  But 
it  occurred  to  me,  after  all,  when  I  began  to  think — what  a 


218  SUNRISE. 

great  man,  a  great  mind,  might  say  to  this  proposal.  Take  a 
man  like  Lind  :  see  what  he  could  make  of  it !  *  Do  not  laugh 
at  it  any  more,  Calabressa,'  said  I  to  myself,  'until  you  hear 
the  opinion  of  wiser  men  than  yourself.' " 

He  gripped  Edward s's  arm  tight. 

"  Listen.  To  become  the  allies  of  the  priests  it  is  not  ne- 
cessary to  believe  everything  the  priests  say.  On  the  other 
hand,  they  need  not  approve  all  that  we  are  doing,  if  only  they 
withdraw  their  opposition.  Do  you  perceive  the  possibility 
now  ?  Do  you  think  of  the  force  of  that  combination  ?  The 
multitudes  of  the  Catholics  encouraged  to  join  ! — the  Vatican 
the  friend  and  ally  of  the  COUNCIL  OF  THE  SEVEN  STARS  !  " 

He  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  low  voice,  but  he  wore  a  proud 
look. 

"  And  if  this  proposal  were  entertained,"  said  Edwards, 
meditatively,  "  of  course,  they  would  abandon  this  other  busi- 
ness." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  confidentially,  "  I  know 
that  Lind,  who  sees  things  with  a  large  vision,  is  against  it. 
He  consents — as  you  consent  to  do  your  little  outside  part — 
against  his  own  opinion.  More  ;  if  he  had  been  on  the  Coun- 
cil the  decree  would  never  have  been  granted,  though  De 
Bedros  and  a  dozen  of  his  daughters  had  demanded  it.  '  Cal- 
abressa,' he  said  to  me,  *  it  wilt  do  great  mischief  in  England 
if  it  is  known  that  we  are  connected  with  it.'  Well,  you  see, 
all  this  would  be  avoided  if  they  closed  with  the  Cardinal's 
offer." 

"You  are  sanguine,  Signor  Calabressa,"  said  the  other. 

"  Besides,  the  thirty  thousand  lire  !  "  said  Calabressa,  eagerly. 
"  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  Ah,  you  English  have  always 
too  much  money  !  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Edwards,  with  a  smile.  "  We  are  all  up 
to  the  neck  in  gold." 

"  Thirty  thousand  lire  a  year,  and  the  favor  of  the  Vatican  ; 
what  fools  Granaglia  and  I  were  to  laugh  !  But  perhaps  we 
will  find  that  the  Council  were  wiser." 

They  had  now  got  out  to  Posilipo,  and  the  stormy  sunset 
had  waned,  leaving  the  sky  overclouded  and  dusk.  Cala- 
bressa, having  first  looked  up  and  down  the  road,  stopped  by 
the  side  of  a  high  wall,  over  which  projected  a  number  of  the 
broken,  gray-green,  spiny  leaves  of  the  cactus — a  hedge  at  the 
foot  of  the  terrace  above. 

"  Peste!"  said  he.  "  How  the  devil  is  one  to  find  it  out  in 
the  dark?" 

"  Find  what  out  ?  " 


IN  A  GARDEN  A  T  POSILIPO.  219 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "  you  are  not  able 
by  chance  to  see  a  bit  of  thread — a  bit  of  red  thread — tied 
round  one  of  those  big  leaves  ?  " 

Edwards  glanced  up. 

"  Not  I." 

"Ah,  well,  we  must  run  the  risk.  Perhaps  by  accident 
there  may  be  a  meeting." 

They  walked  on  for  some  time,  Calabressa  becoming  more 
and  more  watchful.  They  paused  to  let  a  man  driving  a 
wagon  and  a  pair  of  oxen  go  by ;  and  then  Calabressa,  en- 
joining his  companion  to  remain  where  he  was,  went  on  alone. 

The  changing  sky  had  opened  somewhat  overhead,  and 
there  was  a  wan  twilight  shining  through  the  parted  clouds. 
Edwards,  looking  after  Calabressa,  could  have  fancied  that 
the  dark  figure  had  disappeared  like  a  ghost ;  but  the  old 
albino  had  merely  crossed  the  road,  opened  the  one  half  of  a 
huge  gate,  and  entered  a  garden. 

It  was  precisely  like  the  gardens  of  the  other  villas  along 
the  highway — cut  in  terraces  along  the  steep  side  of  the  hill, 
with  winding  pathways,  and  marble  lions  here  and  there,  and 
little  groves  of  orange  and  olive  and  fig  trees ;  while  on  one 
side  the  sheer  descent  was  guarded  by  an  enormous  cactus 
hedge.  The  ground  was  very  unequal :  on  one  small  plateau 
a  fountain  was  playing — the  trickling  of  the  water  the  only 
sound  audible  in  the  silence. 

Calabressa  lookout  his  pocket-book,  and  tore  a  leaf  from  it. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  How  is  one  to 
write  in  the  -dark  ?  " 

But  he  managed  to  scrawl  the  word  "  Barsanti ;  "  then  he 
wrapped  the  paper  round  a  small  pebble  and  approached  the 
fountain.  By  putting  one  foot  on  the  edge  of  the  stone  basin 
beneath  he  could  reach  over  to  the  curved  top,  and  there  he 
managed  to  drop  the  missive  into  some  aperture  concealed 
under  the  lip.  He  stepped  back,  dried  his  hand  with  his 
handkerchief,  and  then  went  down  one  of  the  pathways  to 
a  lower  level  of  the  garden. 

Here  he  easily  found  the  entrance  to  an  ordinary  sort  of 
grotto — a  narrow  cave  winding  inward  and  ending  in  a  piece 
of  fancy  rockwork  down  which  the  water  was  heard  to  trickle. 
But  he  did  not  go  to  the  end — he  stopped  about  half-way  and 
listened.  There  was  no  sound  whatever  in  the  dark,  except 
the  plash  of  the  tiny  water-fall. 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  grating  noise,  and  in  the  black 
wall  before  him  appeared  a  vertical  line  of  orange  light. 
This  sudden  gleam  was  so  bewildering  to  the  eyes  that  Cala- 


bressa  could  not  see  who  it  was  that  come  out  to  him  ;  he 
only  knew  that  the  stranger  waited  for  him  to  pass  on  into 
the  outer  air. 

"  It  is  cooler  here.     To  your  business,  friend  Calabressa." 

The  moment  Calabressa  recognized  this  tall,  military-look- 
ing man,  with  the  closely  cropped  bullet-head  and  long  silver- 
white  mustache,  he  whipped  off  his  cap,  and  said,  anxiously, 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  Excellency  !  a  thousand  pardons  ! 
Do  I  interrupt  ?  May  not  I  see  Fossati  ?  " 

"  It  is  unnecessary.  There  is  much  business  to-night. 
One  must  breathe  the  air  sometimes." 

Calabressa  for  once  had  completely  lost  his  sang-froid. 
He  could  not  speak  for  stammering. 

"  I  assure  you,  your  Excellency,  it  is  death  to  me  to  think 
that  I  interrupt  you." 

"  But  why  did  you  come,  then,  my  friend  ?     To  the  point." 

"  Zaccatelli,"  the  other  managed  to  get  out. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  proposal.  Some  days  ago  I  saw  Gran- 
aglia." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Pardon  me,  Excellency.  If  I  had  known,  not  for  worlds 
would  I  have  called  you — " 

"Come,  come  my  Calabressa,"  said  the  other,  good-natured- 
ly. "  No  more  apologies.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say  ? — the 
proposal  made  by  the  Cardinal  ?  Yes ;  we  know  about  that." 

"And  it  has  not  been  accepted  ? — the  decree  remains?" 

"  You  waste  your  breath,  my  friend.  The  decree  remains, 
certainly.  We  are  not  children  ;  we  do  not  play.  What  more, 
my  Calabressa  ? " 

But  Calabressa  had  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Then  he 
said,  slowly, 

"  It  occurred  to  me  when  I  was  in  England — there  was  a 
poor  devil  there  who  would  have  thrown  away  his  life  in  a 
useless  act  of  revenge — well-r-" 

"  Well,  you  brought  him  over  here,"  said  the  other,  interrupt- 
ing him.  "  Your  object  ?  Ah,  Lind  and  you  being  old 
comrades ;  and  Lind  appearing  to  you  to  be  in  a  difficulty. 
But  did  Lind  approve  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Calabressa,  still  hesitating.  "  He  allowed 
us  to  try.  He  was  doubtful  himself." 

"I  should  have  thought  so,"  said  the  other,  ironically. 
"  No,  good  Calabressa ;  we  cannot  accept  the  services  of  a 
maniac.  The  night  has  got  dark  ;  I  cannot  see  whether 
you  are  surprised.  How  do  we  know  ?  The  man  Kirski 


IN  A  GARDEN  AT  POS2LIPO.  221 

has  been  twice  examined — once  in  Venice,  once  this  morning, 
when  you  went  down  to  the  Luisa ;  the  reports  the  same. 
What !  To  have  a  maniac  blundering  about  the  gates,  attract- 
ing every  one's  notice  by  his  gibberish ;  then  he  is  arrested 
with  a  pistol  or  a  knife  in  his  hand  ;  he  talks  nonsense  about 
some  Madonna ;  he  is  frightened  into  a  confession,  and  we 
become  the  laughing-stock  of  Europe !  Impossible,  impos- 
sible, my  Calabressa  :  where  were  your  wits  ?  No  wonder 
Lind  was  doubtful — " 

"The  man  is  capable  of  being  taught,"  said  Calabressa, 
humbly. 

"We  need  not  waste  more  breath,  my  friend.  To-night 
Lind  will  be  reminded  why  it  was  necessary  that  the  execution 
of  this  decree  was  intrusted  to  the  English  section  :  he  must 
not  send  any  Russian  madman  to  compromise  us." 

"  Then  I  must  take  him  back,  your  Excellency  !  " 

"  No  ;  send  him  back — with  the  English  scholar.  You 
will  remain  in  Naples,  Calabressa.  There  is  something  stir- 
ring that  will  interest  you." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Excellency." 

"  Good-night,  dear  friend." 

The  figure  beside  him  had  disappeared  almost  before  he 
had  time  to  return  the  salutation,  and  he  was  left  to  find  his 
way  down  to  the  gate,  taking  care  not  to  run  unawares  on  one 
of  the  long  cactus  spines.  He  discovered  Edwards  precisely 
where  he  had  left  him. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  Edouarts,  now  you  may  clap  your  hands — 
now  you  may  shout  an  English  *  hurrah ! '  For  you,  at  all 
events,  there  is  good  news." 

"  That  project  has  been  abandoned,  then  ?  "  said  Edwards, 
eagerly. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  said  Calabressa,  loftily ;  as  if  he  had  never 
entertained  such  a  possibility.  "  Do  you  think  the  Council 
is  to  be  played  with — is  to  be  bribed  by  so  many  and  so  many 
lire  ?  No,  no.  Its  decree  is  inviolable." 

"  Well,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  some  stupidities  of  our  Russian  friend  have 
saved  you  :  they  know  everything,  these  wonderful  people  : 
they  say,  'No;  we  will  not  trust  the  affair  to  a  madman.' 
Do  you  perceive  ?  What  you  have  to  do  now  is  to  take  Kirski 
back  to  England." 

"  And  I  am  not  wanted  any  longer  ?  "  said  the  other,  with 
the  same  eagerness. 

"  I  presume  not.     I  am.     I  remain  in  Naples.     For  you, 


222  SUNRISE, 

you  are  free.  Away  to  England  !  I  give  you  my  blessing  ; 
and  to-night — to-night  you  will  give  me  a  bottle  of  wine." 

But  presently  he  added,  as  they  still  walked  on, 

"  Friend  Edouarts,  do  you  think  I  should  be  humiliated 
because  my  little  plan  has  been  refused  ?  No  :  it  was  born 
of  idleness.  My  freedom  was  new  to  me  ;  over  in  England  I 
had  nothing  to  do.  And  when  Lind  objected,  I  talked  him 
over.  Peste,  if  those  fellows  of  Society  had  not  got  at  the 
Russian,  all  might  have  been  well." 

"  You  will  forgive  my  pointing  out,"  said  Edwards,  in  quite 
a  facetious  way,  "  that  all  would  not  have  been  so  well  with 
me,  for  one.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  able  to  wash  my  hands 
of  it.  You  shall  have  not  only  one  but  two  bottles  of  wine 
with  supper,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  friend  Edouarts,  I  bring  you  the  good  news,  but  I 
am  not  the  author  of  it.  No  ;  I  must  confess,  I  would  rather 
have  had  my  plan  carried  out.  But  what  matter  ?  One  does 
one's  best  from  time  to  time — the  hours  go  by — at  the  end 
comes  sleep,  and  no  one  can  torment  you  more." 

They  walked  on  for  a  time  in  silence.  And  now  before 
them  lay  the  wonderful  sight  of  Naples  ablaze  wiih  a  dusky 
yellow  radiance  in  the  dark ;  and  far  away  beyond  the  most 
distant  golden  points,  high  up  in  the  black  deeps  of  the  sky, 
the  constant,  motionless,  crimson  glow  of  Vesuvius  told  them 
where  the  peaks  of  the  mountain,  themselves  unseen  towered 
above  the  sea. 

By-and-by  they  plunged  into  the  great  murmuring  city. 

"You  are  going  back  to  England,  Monsieur  Edouarts. 
You  will  take  Kirski  to  Mr.  Brand  ,  he  will  be  reinstated  in 
his  work  ;  Englishmen  do  not  forget  their  promises.  Then  I 
have  another  little  commission  for  you." 

He  went  into  one  of  the  small  jeweller's  shops  ;  and,  after 
a  great  deal  of  haggling — for  his  purse  was  not  heavy,  and 
he  knew  the  ways  of  his  countrymen — he  bought  a  necklace 
of  pink  coral.  It  was  carefully  wrapped  in  wool  and  put  in- 
to a  box.  Then  they  went  outside  again. 

"  You  will  give  this  little  present,  my  good  friend  Edouarts 
— you  will  take  it>  with  my  compliments,  to  my  beautiful,  no- 
ble child  Natalie ;  and  you  will  tell  her  that  it  did  not  cost 
much,  but  it  is  only  a  message — to  show  her  that  Calabressa 
still  thinks  of  her,  and  loves,  her  always." 


SUNRISE.-PART    II. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

FRIEND    AND    SWEETHEART. 

MADAME  POTECKI  was  a  useful  enough  adviser  in  the  small 
and  ordinary  affairs  of  every-day  life,  but  face  to  face  with  a 
great  emergency  she  became  terrified  and  helpless. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  kept  repeating,  in  a  flurried  sort 
of  way,  "you  must  not  do  anything  rash — you  must  not  do 
anything  wild.  Oh,  my  dear,  take  care  !  it  is  so  wicked  for 
children  to  disobey  their  parents  !  " 

"  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  am  a 
woman  :  I  know  what  seems  to  me  just  and  unjust ;  and  I 
only  wish  to  do  right."  She  was  now  quite  calm.  She  had 
mastered  that  involuntary  tremulousness  of  the  lips.  It  was 
the  little  Polish  lady  who  was  agitated. 

"  My  dear  Natalie,  I  will  go  to  your  father.  I  said  I 
would  go — even  with  your  message — though  it  is  a  frightful 
task.  But  how  can  I  tell  him  that  you  have  this  other  pro- 
ject in  your  mind  ?  Oh,  my  dear,  be  cautious  !  don't  do  any- 
thing you  will  have  to  repent  of  in  after-years  !  " 

"  You  need  not  tell  him,  dear  Madame  Potecki,  if  you  are 
alarmed,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  will  tell  him  myself,  when  I  have 
come  to  a  decision.  So  you  cannot  say  what  one  ought  to 
do  in  such  circumstances  ?  You  cannot  tell  me  what  my 
mother,  for  example,  would  have  done  in  such  a  case  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  ;  I  can,  my  dear,"  said  the  other,  eagerly.  "At 
least  I  can  tell  you  what  is  best  and  safest.  Is  it  not  for  a 
girl  to  go  by  her  father's  advice — her  father's  wishes  ?  Then 
she  is  safe.  Anything  else  is  wild,  dangerous.  My  dear, 
you  are  far  too  impulsive.  You  do  not  think  of  conse- 
quences. It  is  all  the  affair  of  the  moment  with  you,  and  how 
you  can  do  some  one  you  love  a  kindness  at  the  instant. 
Your  heart  is  warm,  and  you  are  quick  to  act.  All  the  more 
reason,  I  say,  that  you  should  go  by  some  one  else's  judg- 
ment ;  and  who  can  guide  you  better  than  your  own  father  ?  " 

"  I  know  already  what  my  father  wishes,"  said  Natalie. 

"  Then  why  not  go  by  that,  my  dear  ?  Be  sure  it  is  the 
safest.  Do  you  think  I  would  take  it  on  me  to  say  other- 
wise ?  Ah,  my  dear  chlid,  romance  is  very  beautiful  at  your 
age  ;  but  one  may  sacrifice  too  much  for  it." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  romance  at  all,"  said  Natalie,  look- 
ing clown.  "  It  is  a  question  of  what  it  is  right  that  a  girl 


224  SUNRISE. 

should  do,  in  faithfulness  to  one  whom  she  loves.  But  per- 
haps it  is  better  not  to  argue  it,  for  one  sees  so  differently  at 
different  ages.  And  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  dear  Madame 
Potecki,  for  agreeing  to  take  that  message  to  my  father ;  but 
I  will  tell  him  myself." 

She  rose.  The  little  woman  came  instantly  and  caught 
her  by  both  hands. 

"  Is  my  child  going  to  quarrel  with  me  because  I  am  old 
and  unsympathetic  ?  " 

"Oh  no  ;  do  not  think  that !  "  saicl  Natalie,  quickly. 

"  What  you  say  is  quite  true,  my  dear ;  different  ages  see 
differently.  When  I  was  at  your  age,  perhaps  I  was  as  liable 
as  anyone  to  let  my  heart  get  the  better  of  rny  head.  And 
do  I  regret  it  ? "  The  little  woman  sighed.  "  Many  a  time 
they  warned  me  against  marrying  one  who  did  not  stand  well 
with  the  authorities.  But  I — I  had  my  opinions,  too  ;  I  was 
a  patriot,  like  the  rest.  We  were  all  mad  with  enthusiasm. 
Ah,  the  secret  meetings  in  Warsaw  ! — the  pride  of  them  ! — 
we  girls  would  not  marry  one  who  was  not  a  patriot.  But 
that  is  all  over  now ;  and  here  am  I  an  old  woman,  with 
nothing  left  but  my  old  masters,  and  my  china,  and  my  *  One, 
two,  three,  four ;  one,  two,  three,  four.'  " 

Here  a  knock  outside  warned  Natalie  that  she  must  leave, 
another  pupil,  no  doubt,  having  arrived  ;  and  so  she  bade 
good-bye  to  her  friend,  not  much  enlightened  or  comforted 
by  her  counsel. 

That  evening  Mr.  Lind  brought  Beratinsky  home  with  him 
to  dinner — an  unusual  circumstance,  for  at  one  time  Beratin- 
sky had  wished  to  become  a  suitor  for  Natalie's  hand,  and 
had  had  that  project  very  promptly  knocked  on  the  head  by 
Lind  himself.  Thereafter  he  had  come  but  seldom  to  the 
house,  and  never  without  a  distinct  invitation.  On  this  even- 
ing the  two  men  talked  almost  exclusively  between  them- 
selves, and  Natalie  was  not  sorry  to  be  allowed  to  remain  an 
inattentive  listener.  She  was  thinking  of  other  things. 

When  Beratinsky  had  gone,  Lind  turned  to  his  daughter, 
and  said  to  her  pleasantly, 

"  Well,  Natalie,  what  have  you  been  about  to-day  ? " 

"  First  of  all,"  said  she,  regarding  him  with  those  fearless 
eyes  of  hers,  "  I  went  to  South  Kensington  Museum  with 
Madame  Potecki.  Mr  Brand  was  there." 

His  manner  changed  instantly. 

"  By  appointment  ?  "  he  said,  sharply. 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  I  thought  he  would  call  here,  and 
I  told  Anneli  where  we  had  gone." 


FRIEND  AND  SWEETPIEART. 


225 


Lind  betrayed  no  expression  of  annoyance.  He  only  said, 
coldly, 

"  Last  night  I  told  you  it  was  my  wish  that  he  and  you 
should  have  no  further  communication  with  each  other."  . 

"  Yes  ;  but  is  it  reasonable,  is  it  fair,  is  it  possible,  papa?" 
she  said,  forgetting  for  a  moment  her  forced  composure. 
"  Do  you  think  I  can  forget  why  he  is  going  away  ?  " 

"  Apparently  you  do  not  know  why  he  is  going  away,"  her 
father  said.  "  He  is  going,  to  America  because  his  duty  com- 
mands that  he  should  ;  because  he  has  work  to  do  there  of 
more  importance  than  sentimental  entanglements  in  this 
country.  He  understands  himself  the  necessity  of  his  going." 

The  girl's  cheeks  burnt  red,  and  she  sat  silent.  How 
could  she  accuse  her  own  father  of  prevarication  ?  But  the 
crisis  was  a  momentous  one. 

"  You  forget,  papa,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  that  when  you  returned  from  abroad  and  got  Mr.  Brand's 
letter,  you  came  to  me.  You  said  that  if  there  was  any  fur- 
ther question  of  a — a  marriage — between  Mr.  Brand  and  my- 
self, you  would  have  to  send  him  to  America.  I  was  to  be 
the  cause  of  his  banishment." 

"  I  spoke  hastily — in  anger,"  her  father  said,  with  some 
impatience.  "  Quite  apart  from  any  such  question,  Mr. 
Brand  knows  that  it  is  of  great  importance  some  one  like 
himself  should  go  to  Philadelphia  ;  and  at  the  moment  I 
don't  see  any  one  who  could  do  as  well.  Have  you  anything 
further  to  say  ?  " 

"  No,  papa — except  good  night."  She  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead  and  went  away  to  her  own  room. 

That  was  a  night  of  wild  unrest  for  Natalie  Lind.  It  was 
her  father  himself  who  had  represented  to  her  all  that  ban- 
ishment from  his  native  country  meant  to  an  Englishman  ; 
and  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  believed  that  it  was  through 
her  this  doom  had  befallen  George  Brand.  She  knew  he 
would  not  complain.  He  professed  to  her  that  it  was  only  in 
the  discharge  of  an  ordinary  duty  he  was  leaving  England  : 
others  had  suffered  more  for  less  reason  ;  it  was  nothing ; 
why  should  she  blame  herself  ?  But  all  the  same,  through 
this  long,  restless,  agonizing  night  she  accused  herself  of 
having  driven  him  from  his  country  and  his  friends,  of  having 
made  an  exile  of  him.  And  again  and  again  she  put  before 
herself  the  case  she  had  submitted  to  Madame  Potecki ;  and 
again  and  again  she  asked  herself  what  her  own  mother 
would  have  done,  with  her  lover  going  away  to  a  strange  land. 


226  SUNKISE. 

In  the  morning,  long  before  it  was  light,  and  while  as  yet 
she  had  not  slept  for  a  second,  she  rose,  threw  a  dressing-gown 
round  her,  lit  the  gas,  and  went  to  the  little  escritoire  that 
stQod  by  the  window.  Her  hand  was  trembling  when  she  sat 
down  to  write,  but  it  was  not  with  the  cold.  There  was  a 
proud  look  on  her  face.  This  was  what  she  wrote : 

"  MY  LOVER  AND  HUSBAND, — You  are  going  away  from 
your  own  country,  perhaps  forever ;  and  'I  think  it  is  partly 
through  me  that  all  this  has  happened.  What  can  I  do? 
Only  this ;  that  I  offer  to  go  with  you,  if  you  will  take  me. 
I  am  your  wife  ;  why  should  you  go  alone  ?  " 

There  was  no  signature.  She  folded  the  paper,  and 
placed  it  in  an  envelope,  and  carefully  locked  it  up.  Then 
she  put  out  the  light  and  went  back  to  bed  again,  and  fell 
into  a  sound,  happy,  contented  sleep — the  untroubled  sleep 
of  a  child. 

Then  in  the  morning  how  bright  and  light-hearted  she 
was  ! 

Anneli  could  not  understand  this  change  that  had  sudden- 
ly come  over  her  young  mistress.  She  said  little,  but  there 
was  a  happy  light  on  her  face ;  she  sung  "  Du  Schwert  an 
meiner  Linken"  in  snatches,  as  she  was  dressing  her  hair ; 
and  she  presented  Anneli  with  a  necklace  of  Turkish  silver 
coins. 

She  was  down  at  South  Kensington  Museum  considerably 
before  eleven  o'clock.  She  idly  walked  Anneli  through  the 
various  rooms,  pointing  out  to  her  this  and  that ;  and  as  the 
little  Dresden  maid  had  not  been  in  the  Museum  before,  her 
eyes  were  wide  open  at  the  sight  of  such  beautiful  things. 
She  was  shown  masses  of  rich  tapestry  and  cases  of 
Japanese  lacquer-work ;  she  was  shown  collections  of  ancient 
jewellery  and  glass ;  she  went  by  sunny  English  landscapes, 
and  was  told  the  story  of  solemn  cartoons.  In  the  midst  of 
it  all  George  Brand  appeared ;  and  the  little  German  girl,  of 
her  own  accord,  and  quite  as  deftly  as  Madame  Potecki,  de- 
voted herself  to  the  study  of  some  screens  of  water-colors, 
just  as  if  she  were  one  of  the  Royal  Academy  pupils. 

"  We  have  been  looking  over  Madame  Potecki's  treasures 
once  more,"  said  Natalie.  He  was  struck  by  the  happy 
brightness  of  her  face. 

"  Ah,  indeed ! "  said  he ;  and  he  went  and  brought  a 
couple  of  chairs,  that  together  they  might  regard,  if  they 
were  so  minded,  one  of  those  vast  cartoons.  "  Well,  I  have 
good  news,  Natalie.  I  do  not  start  until  a  clear  week  hence. 


FRIEND  AND  SWEETHEART.  227 

So  we  shall  have  six  mornings  here — six  mornings  all  to  our- 
selves. Do  you  know  what  that  means  to  me  ? " 

She  took  the  chair  he  offered  her.  She  did  not  look 
appalled  by  this  intelligence  of  his  early  departure. 

"  It  means  six  more  days  of  happiness :  and  do  you  not 
think  I  shall  look  back  on  them  with  gratitude  ?  And  there 
is  not  to  be  a  word  said  about  my  going.  No ;  it  is  under- 
clerstood  that  we  cut  off  the  past  and  the  future  for  these  six 
days.  We  are  here  ;  we  can  speak  to  each  other ;  that  is 
enough/' 

"  But  how  can  one  help  thinking  of  the  future  ?  "  said  she, 
with  a  mock  mournfulness.  "  You  are  going  away  alone." 

"  No,  not  quite  alone." 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Why,  you  know  what  Evelyn  is — the  best-hearted  of 
friends,"  he  said  to  her.  "  He  insists  on  going  over  to 
America  with  me,  and  even  talks  of  remaining  a  year  or  two. 
He  pretends  to  be  anxious  to  study  American  politics." 

He  could  not  understand  why  she  laughed — though  it  was 
a  short,  quick,  hysterical  laugh,  very  near  to  tears. 

"  You  remind  me  of  one  of  Mr.  Browning's  poems,"  she 
said,  half  in  apology.  "It  is  about  a  man  who  has  a  friend 
and  a  sweetheart.  You  don't  remember  it,  perhaps  ?  " 

He  thought  for  a  moment. 

"The  fact  is."  he  said,  "  that  when  I  think  of  Browning's 
poems,  all  along  the  line  of  them,  there  are  some  of  them 
seem  to  burn  like  fire,  and  I  cannot  see  the  others." 

"  This  is  a  very  modest  little  one,"  said  she.  It  is  a  poor 
poet  starving  in  a  garret ;  and  he  tells  you  he  has  a  friend 
beyond  the  sea  ;  and  he  knows  that  if  he  were  to  fall  ill,  and 
to  wake  up  out  of  his  sickness,  he  would  find  his  friend 
there,  tending  him  like  the  gentlest  of  nurses,  even  though 
he  got  nothing  but  grumblings  about  his  noisy  boots.  And 
the — the  poor  fellow — " 

She  paused  for  a  second. 

"  He  goes  on  to  tell  about  his  sweetheart — who  has  ruined 
him — to  whom  he  has  sacrificed  his  life  and  his  peace  and 
fame — and  what  would  she  do  ?  He  says, 

" '  She 

— I'll  tell  you — calmly  would  decree 
That  I  should  roast  at  a  slow  fire, 
If  that  would  compass  her  desire 
And  make  her  one  whom  they  invite 
To  the  famous  ball  to-morrow  night.' 


228  SUNXISE. 

That  is — the  difference — between  a  friend  and  a  sweet- 
heart—" 

He  did  not  notice  that  she  spoke  rather  uncertainly,  and 
that  her  eyes  were  wet. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Natalie  ?  " 

"  That  it  is  a  good  thing  for  you  that  you  have  a  friend. 
There  is  one,  at  all  events — who  will — who  will  not  let  you 
go  away  alone." 

"  My  darling  ! "  he  said,  "  what  new  notion  is  this  you  have 
got  into  your  head  ?  You  do  not  blame  yourself  for  that 
too  ?  Why,  you  see,  it  is  a  very  simple  thing  for  Lord 
Evelyn,  who  is  an  idle  man,  and  has  no  particular  ties  bind- 
ing him,  to  spend  a  few  months  in  the  States ;  and  when  he 
once  finds  out  that  the  voyage  across  is  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est  holidays  a  man  can  take,  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  see  him 
often  enough.  Now,  don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  that 
— except  this  one  point.  Have  you  promised  your  father 
that  you  will  not  write  to  me  ? " 

"  Oh  no ;  how  could  1  ? " 

"  And  may  I  write  to  you  ? " 

"  I  shall  live  from  week  to  week  expecting  your  letters," 
she  said  simply. 

"  Then  we  shall  not  say  another  word  about  it,"  said  he, 
lightly.  "  We  have  six  days  to  be  together :  no  one  can  rob 
us  of  them.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  Eng- 
lish porcelain  that  is  on  this  floor  ?  We  have  whole  heaps 
of  old  Chelsea  and  Crown  Derby  and  that  kind  of  thing  at 
the  Beeches :  I  think  I  must  try  and  run  down  there  before  I 
go,  and  send  you  some.  What  use  is  it  to  me  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  1  hope  you  won't  do  that,"  she  said  quickly,  as 
she  rose. 

"  You  don't  care  about  it,  perhaps  ?  " 

She  seemed  embarrassed  for  a  moment. 

"  For  old  china  ?  "  she  said,  after  a  moment.  "  Oh  yes,  I 
do.  But — but — I  think  you  may  find  something  happen 
that  would  make  it  unnecessary — I  mean  it  is  very  kind  of 
you — but  I  hope  you  will  not  think  of  sending  me  any." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     What  is  about  to  happen  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  a  mystery  and  a  secret  as  yet,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile.  She  seemed  so  much  more  light-hearted  than  she  had 
been  the  day  before. 

Then,  as  they  walked  by  those  cases,  and  admired  this  or 
that,  she  would  recur  to  this  forth-coming  departure  of  his, 
despite  of  him.  And  she  was  not  at  all  sad  about  it.  She 
was  curious  ;  that  was  all.  Was  there  any  difficulty  in  getting 


FRIEND  AND  SWEETHEART.  229 

a  cabin  at  short  notice  ?  It  was  from  Liverpool  the  big 
steamers  sailed,  was  it  not  ?  And  it  was  a  very  different 
thing,  she  understood,  travelling  in  one  of  those  huge  vessels, 
and  crossing  the  Channel  in  a  little  cockle-shell.  He  would 
no  doubt  make  many  friends  on  board.  Did  single  ladies 
ever  make  the  voyage  ?  Could  a  single  lady  and  her  maid 
get  a  cabin  to  themselves?  It  would  not  be  so  very  tedious, 
if  one  could  get  plenty  of  books.  And  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 
She  did  not  study  the  Chelsea  shepherdesses  very  closely. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  wish  you  would  do,  Natalie,"  said  he. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  she  answered. 

"  When  Lord  Evelyn  comes  back — some  day  I  wish  you 
would  take  Anneli  with  you  for  a  holiday — and  Evelyn 
would  take  you  down  to  have  a  look  over  the  Beeches.  You 
could  be  back  the  same  night.  I  should  like  you  to  see  my 
mother's  portrait." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Will  you  do  that?" 

"  You  will  know  before  long,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  why  I  need  not  promise  that  to  you.  But  that,  or  anything 
else  I  am  willing  to  do,  if  you  wish  it." 

The  precious  moments  sped  quickly.  And  as  they  walked 
through  the  almost  empty  rooms — how  silent  these  were,  with 
the  occasional  foot-falls  on  the  tiled  floors,  and  once  or 
twice  the  distant  sounding  of  a  bell  outside! — again  and 
again  he  protested  against  her  saying  another  word  about  his 
going  away.  What  did  it  matter  ?  Once  the  pain  of  parting 
was  over,  what  then  ?  He  had  a  glad  work  before  him.  She 
must  not  for  a  moment  think  she  had  anything  to  do  with  it. 
And  he  could  not  regret  that  he  had  ever  met  her,  when  he 
would  have  these  six  mornings  of  happy  intercommunion  to 
think  over,  when  the  wide  seas  separated  them  ? 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  reproachfully,  "  do  you  forget  the 
night  you  and  I  heard  Fidelio  together  ?  And  you  think  I 
shall  regret  ever  having  seen  you." 

She  smiled  to  herself.  Her  hand  clasped  a  certain  en- 
velope that  he  could  not  see. 

Then  the  time  came  for  their  seeking  out  Anneli.  But  as 
they  were  going  through  the  twilight  of  a  corridor  she  stopped 
him,  and  her  usually  frank  eyes  were  downcast.  She  took 
out  that  envelope. 

"  Dearest,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly,  "  this  is  something 
I  wish  you  to  read  after  Anneli  and  I  am  gone.  I  think  you 
will — you  will  not  misunderstand  me.  If  you  think — it  is — 
it  is  too  bold,  you  will  remember  that  I  have — no  mother  to 


230  SUNRISE. 

advise  me;  and — and  you  will  be  kind,  and  not  answer. 
Then  I  shall  know." 

Ten  minutes  thereafter  he  was  standing  alone,  in  the  broad 
daylight  outside,  reading  the  lines  she  had  written  early  that 
morning,  and  in  every  one  of  them  he  read  the  firm  and 
noble  character  of  the  woman  he  loved.  He  was  almost  be- 
wildered by  the  proud-spirited  frankness  of  her  message  to 
him  ;  and  involuntarily  he  thought  of  the  poor  devil  of  a  poet 
in  the  garret  who  spoke  of  his  faithful  friend  and  his  worth- 
less mistress. 

"  One  is  fortunate  indeed  to  have  a  friend  like  Evelyn,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  But  when  and  has,  besides  that,  the  love  of 
a  woman  like  this — then  the  earth  holds  something  worth  liv- 
ing for." 

He  looked  at  the  brief,  proud,  pathetic  message  again — "  / 
am  your  wife:  why  should  you  go  alone?"  It  was  Natalie 
herself  speaking  in  every  word. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

INTERVENTION. 

THE  more  that  Madame  Potecki  thought  over  the  communi- 
cation made  to  her  by  Natalie,  the  more  alarmed  she  became. 
Her  pupils  received  but  a  very  mechanical  sort  of  guidance 
that  afternoon.  All  through  the  "  One,  two,  three,  four ; 
one,  two,  three,  four  "  she  was  haunted  by  an  uneasy  con- 
sciousness that  her  protest  had  not  been  nearly  strong  enough. 
The  girl  had  not  seemed  in  the  least  impressed  by  her  counsel. 
And  suppose  this  wild  project  were  indeed  carried  out,  might 
not  she,  that  is,  Madame  Potecki,  be  regarded  as  an  accom- 
plice if  she  remained  silent  and  did  not  intervene  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  although  she  and  Ferdinand  Lind  were 
friends  of  many  years'  standing,  she  had  never  quite  got  over 
a  certain  fear  of  him.  She  guessed  pretty  well  what  under- 
lay that  pleasant,  plausible  exterior  of  his.  And  she  was  not 
at  all  sure  that,  if  she  went  to  Mr.  Lind  and  told  him  that  in 
such  and  such  circumstances  his  daughter  meant  to  go  to 
America  as  the  wife  of  George  Brand,  the  first  outburst  of 
his  anger  might  not  fall  on  herself.  She  was  an  intermed- 
dler.  What  concern  of  hers  was  it  ?  He  might  even  accuse 
her  of  having  connived  at  the  whole  affair,  especially  during 
his  absence  in  Philadelphia. 


INTER  VENTION.  23 1 

But  after  all,  the  little  Polish  lady  was  exceedingly  fond  of 
this  girl ;  and  she  resolved  to  go  at  all  hazards  and  see  whether 
something  could  not  be  done  to  put  matters  straight.  She 
would  call  at  the  chambers  in  Lisle  Street,  and  make  sure  of 
seeing  Mr.  Lind  alone.  She  would  venture  to  remind  him 
that  his  daughter  was  grown  up — a  woman,  not  to  be  treated 
as  a  child.  As  she  had  been  altogether  on  the  father'  s  side 
in  arguing  with  Natalie,  so  she  would  be  altogether  on  the 
daughter's  side  in  making  these  representations  to  Mr.  Lind. 
Perhaps  some  happy  compromise  would  result. 

She  was,  however,  exceedingly  nervous  when,  on  the  follow- 
ing afternoon,  she  called  at  Lisle  Street,  and  was  preceded 
up-stairs  by  the  stout  old  German.  In  the  room  into  which 
she  was  shown  Reitzei  was  seated.  Reitzei  received  her  very 
graciously;  they  were  old  friends.  But  although  Madame 
Potecki  on  ordinary  occasions  was  fond  of  listening  to  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice,  she  seemed  now  quite  incapable  of 
saying  anything.  Reitzei  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  hear 
the  new  barytone  sing  at  a  private  house  on  the  previous 
evening ;  she  did  not  even  ask  what  impression  had  been 
produced. 

Then  Mr.  Lind  came  into  the  room,  and  Reitzei  left. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Madame  Potecki  ?  "  said  he,  somewhat 
curtly. 

She  took  it  that  he  was  offended  because  she  had  come  on 
merely  private  affairs  to  his  place  of  buisness ;  and  this  did 
not  tend  to  lessen  her  embarrassment.  However,  she  made 
a  brave  plunge. 

"You  are  surprised, "  she  said,  "to  find  me  calling  upon 
you  here,  are  you  not  ?  Yes  ;  but  I  will  explain.  You  see, 
my  dear  friend,  I  wished  to  see  you  alone — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  understand.  What  is  your 
news  ?  " 

"  It  is — about  Natalie,"  she  managed  to  say ,  and  then  all 
the  methods  of  beginning  that  she  had  studied  went  clean 
out  of  her  mind  ;  and  she  was  reduced  to  an  absolute  silence. 

He  did  not  seem  in  the  least  impatient. 

"  Yes  ;  about  Natalie  ?  "  he  repeated,  taking  up  a  paper- 
knife,  and  beginning  to  write  imaginary  letters  on  the  leather 
of  the  desk  before  him. 

"  You  will  say  to  me,  *  Why  do  you  interfere  ? '  "  the  little 
woman  managed  to  say  at  last.  "  Meddlers  do  harm  ;  they 
are  not  thanked.  But  then,  my  dear  friend,  Natalie  is  like  my 
own  child  to  me  ;  for  her  what  would  I  not  do  ?" 

Mr.  Lind  could  not  fail  to  see  that  his  visitor  was  verv 


232  SUNRISE. 

nervous  and  agitated  :  perhaps  it  was  to  give  her  time  to  com- 
pose herself  that  he  said,  leisurely, 

"  Yes,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  know  that  you  and  she  are  great 
friends ;  and  it  is  a  good  thing  that  the  child  should  have 
some  one  to  keep  her  company ;  perhaps  she  is  a  little  too 
much  alone.  Well,  what  do  you  wish  to  say  about  her? 
You  run  no  risk  with  me.  You  will  not  be  misunderstood. 
I  know  you  are  not  likely  to  say  anything  unkind  about  Nata- 
lie." 

"Unkind!"  she  exclaimed;  and  now  she  had  recovered 
herself  somewhat.  "  Who  could  do  that  ?  Oh  no,  my  dear 
friend;  oh  no  !  " 

Here  was  another  awkward  pause. 

"  My  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  with  a  smile, 
"  shall  I  speak  for  you  ?  You  do  not  like  to  say  what  you 
have  come  to  say.  Shall  I  speak  for  you  ?  This  is  it,  is  it 
not  ?  You  have  become  aware  of  that  entanglement  that 
Natalie  has  got  into.  Very  well.  Perhaps  she  has  told  you. 
Perhaps  she  has  told  you  also  that  I  have  forbidden  her  to 
have  any  communication  with — well,  let  us  speak  frankly — 
Mr.  Brand.  Very  well.  You  go  with  her  to  the  South  Ken- 
sington Museum  ;  you  meet  Mr.  Brand  there.  Naturally  you 
think  if  that  comes  to  my  ears  I  shall  suspect  you  of  having 
planned  the  meeting ;  and  you  would  rather  come  and  assure 
me  that  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Is  it  so  ?" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Madame  Potecki,  quickly,  "  I  did 
not  come  to  you  about  myself  at  all !  What  am  I?  What 
matters  what  happens  to  an  old  woman  like  me  ?  It  is  not 
about  myself,  it  is  about  Natalie  that  I  have  come  to  you. 
Ah,  the  dear,  beautiful  child  ! — how  can  one  see  her  unhappy, 
and  not  try  to  do  something  ?  Why  should  she  be  unhappy  ? 
She  is  young,  beautiful,  loving ;  my  dear  friend,  do  you  won- 
der that  she  has  a  sweetheart  ? — and  one  who  is  so  worthy  of 
her,  too :  one  who  is  not  selfish,  who  has  courage,  who  will 
be  kind  to  her.  Then  I  said  to  myself, '  Ah,  what  a  pity  to 
have  father  and  daughter  opposed  to  each  other!'  Why 
might  not  one  step  in  and  say,  '  Come,  and  be  friends.  You 
love  each  other :  do  not  have  this  coldness  that  makes  a 
young  heart  so  miserable  ! ' ' 

She  had  talked  quickly  and  eagerly  at  last ;  she  was 
trembling  with  excitement ,  she  had  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face 
to  catch  the  first  symptom  of  acquiescence. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  Mr.  Lind  remained  quite  impassive, 
and  he  said,  coldly, 

"  This  is  a  different  matter  altogether,  Madame   Potecki. 


INTER  VENTION.  233 

I  do  not  blame  you  for  interfering ;  but  I  must  tell  you  at  once 
that  your  interference  is  not  likely  to  be  of  much  use.  You 
see,  there  are  reasons  which  I  cannot  explain  to  you,  but 
which  are  very  serious,  why  any  proposal  of  marriage  between 
Mr.  Brand  and  Natalie  is  not  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment. 
The  thing  is  quite  impossible.  Very  well.  She  knows  this ; 
she  knows  that  I  wish  all  communication  between  them  to 
cease ;  nevertheless,  she  says  she  will  see  him  every  day  un- 
til he  goes.  How  can  you  wonder  that  she  is  unhappy  ?  Is  it 
not  her  own  doing  ?" 

"  If  she  was  in  reality  my  child,  that  is  not  the  way  I  would 
speak,"  said  the  little  woman,  boldly. 

"  Unfortunately,  my  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  said  Mr.  Lind, 
blandly,  "  I  cannot,  as  I  say,  explain  to  you  the  reasons  which 
make  such  a  marriage  impossible,  or  you  yourself  would  say 
it  was  impossible.  Very  well,  then.  If  you  wish  to  do  a 
service  to  your  friend  Natalie — if  you  wish  to  see  her  less  un- 
happy, you  know  what  advice  to  give  her.  A  girl  who  per- 
severes in  wilful  disobedience  is  not  likely  to  be  very  con- 
tented in  her  mind." 

Madame  Potecki  sat  silent  and  perplexed.  This  man 
seemed  so  firm,  so  reasonable,  so  assured,  it  was  apparently 
hopeless  to  expect  any  concession  from  him.  And  yet  what 
was  the  use  of  her  going  away  merely  to  repeat  the  advice 
she  had  already  given  ? 

"  And  in  any  case,"  he  continued,  lightly,  "  it  is  not  an 
affair  for  you  to  be  deeply  troubled  about,  my  dear  Madame 
Potecki ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  circumstance  of  little  moment. 
If  Natalie  chooses  to  indulge  this  sentiment — well,  the  fate  of 
empires  does  not  haug  on  it,  and  in  a  little  while  it  will  be  all 
right.  Youth  soon  recovers  from  small  disappointments ; 
the  girl  is  not  morbid  or  melancholy.  Moreover,  she  has 
plenty  to  occupy  her  mind  with  :  do  not  fear  that  she  will  be 
permanently  unhappy." 

All  this  gave  Natalie's  friend  but  scant  consolation.  She 
knew  something  of  the  girl ,  she  knew  it  was  not  a  light  matter 
that  had  made  her  resolve  to  share  banishment  with  her  lover 
rather  than  that  he  should  depart  alone. 

"  Yes,  she  is  acting  contrary  to  my  wishes,"  continued  Mr. 
Lind,  who  saw  that  his  visitor  was  anxious  and  chagrined. 
"  But  why  should  you  vex  yourself  with  that,  my  dear  madame  ? 
— why,  indeed  ?  It  is  only  for  a  few  days.  When  Mr.  Brand 
leaves  for  America,  then  she  will  settle  down  to  her  old  ways. 
This  episode  of  sentiment  will  soon  be  forgotten.  Do  not 


234 

fear  for  your  friend  Natalie  ;  she  has  a  healthy  constitution  ; 
she  is  not  likely  to  sigh  away  her  life." 

"  But  you  do  not  understand,  Mr.  Lind  !  "  Madame  Potecki 
exclaimed  suddenly.  "  You  do  not  understand.  When  he 
leaves  for  America,  there  is  to  be  an  end  ?  No  !  You  are 
not  aware,  then,  that  if  he  goes  to  America,  Natalie  will  go 
also?" 

She  had  spoken  quickly,  breathlessly,  not  taking  much  no- 
tice of  her  words  ,  but  she  was  appalled  by  the  effect  they 
produced.  Lind  started,  as  if  he  had  been  struck ;  and  for  a 
second,  as  he  regarded  her,  the  eyes  set  under  the  heavy 
brows  burnt  like  coals,  and  she  noticed  a  curious  paleness  in 
his  face,  especially  in  the  lips.  But  this  lasted  only  for  an 
instant.  When  he  spoke,  he  was  quite  calm,  and  was  appar- 
ently considering  each  word. 

"  Are  you  authorized  to  bring  me  this  message  ?  "  he  said, 
slowly. 

"  Oh  no ;  oh  no  !  "  the  little  woman  exclaimed.  "  I  assure 
you,  my  dear  friend,  I  came  to  you  because  I  thought  some- 
thing was  about  to  happen — something  that  might  be  prevent- 
ed. Ah,  you  don't  know  how  I  love  that  darling  child  ,  and 
to  see  her  unhappy,  and  resolved,  perhaps,  to  make  some 
great  mistake  in  her  life,  how  could  I  help  interfering  ?  " 

"  So,"  continued  Lind,  apparently  weighing  every  word, 
"  this  is  what  she  is  bent  on !  If  Brand  goes  to  America, 
she  will  go  with  him  ?  " 

"  I — I — am  afraid  so,"  stammered  Madame  Potecki.  "  That 
is  what  I  gathered  from  her — though  it  was  only  an  imaginary 
case  she  spoke  of.  But  she  was  pale,  and  trembling,  and 
how  could  I  stand  by  and  not  do  something  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  ;  his  lips  were  firm  set.  Unconsciously 
he  was  pressing  the  point  of  the  paper-knife  into  the  leather ; 
it  snapped  in  two.  He  threw  the  pieces  aside,  and  said,  with 
a  sudden  lightness  of  manner, 

"Ah,  well,  my  dear  madame,  you  know  young  people  are 
sometimes  very  headstrong,  and  difficult  to  manage.  We 
must  see  what  can  be  done  in  this  case.  You  have  not  told 
Natalie  you  were  coming  to  me  ?  " 

"  No.  She  asked  me  at  first ;  then  she  said  she  would 
tell  you  herself." 

He  regarded  her  for  a  second. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  say  you  have  been 
here  ? " 

"  Perhaps  not,  perhaps  not,"  Madame  Potecki  said,  doubt- 


INTERVENTION.  235 

fully.     "  No  ;  there  is  no  necessity.     But  if  one  were  sure 
that  the  dear  child  were  to  be  made  any  happier — " 

She  did  not  complete  the  sentence. 

"  I  think  you  may  leave  the  whole  affair  in  my  hands,  my 
dear  Madame  Potecki,"  said  Lind,  in  his  usual  courteous 
fashion.  He  spoke,  indeed,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  the 
most  trifling  importance.  "I  think  I  can  promise  you  that 
Natalie  shall  not  be  allowed  to  imperil  the  happiness  of  her 
life  by  taking  any  rash  steps.  In  the  mean  time,  I  am  your 
debtor  that  you  have  come  and  told  me.  It  was  considerate 
of  you,  Madame  Potecki ;  I' am  obliged  to  you." 

The  little  woman  was  practically  dismissed.  She  rose, 
still  doubtful,  and  hesitated.  But  what  more  could  she  say  ? 

"  I  am  not  to  tell  her,  then  ?  "  she  said. 

"  If  you  please,  not." 

When  he  had  graciously  bowed  her  out,  he  returned  to  his 
seat  at  the  desk ;  and  then  the  forced  courtesy  of  his  man- 
ner was  abandoned.  His  brows  gathered  down  ;  his  lips 
were  again  firm  set ;  he  bent  one  of  the  pieces  of  the  paper- 
knife  until  that  snapped  too  ;  and  when  some  one  knocked  at 
the  door,  he  answered  sharply  in  German. 

It  was  Gathorne  Edwards 'who  entered. 

"  Well,  you  have  got  back  ?  "  he  said,  with  but  scant  civility. 
"Where  is  Calabressa?" 

The  tall,  pale,  stooping  man  looked  round  with  some  cau- 
tion. 

"There  is  no  one — no  one  but  Reitzei,"  said  Lind,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Calabressa  is  detained  in  Naples — the  General's  orders," 
said  the  other,  in  rather  a  low  voice.  "  I  did  not  write — I 
thought  it  was  not  safe  to  put  anything  on  paper  ;  more  es- 
pecially as  we  discovered  that  Kirski  was  being  watched." 

"No  wonder,"  said  Lind,  scornfully.  "A  fool  of  a  mad- 
man being  taken  about  by  a  fool  of  a  mountebank !  " 

Edwards  stared  at  him.  Surely  this  man,  who  was  usually 
the  most  composed,  and  impenetrable,  and  suave  of  men,* 
must  have  been  considerably  annoyed  thus  to  give  way  to  a 
petulant  temper. 

"  But  the  result,  Edwards  :  well  ?  " 

"  Refused  ! " 

Lind  laughed  sardonically. 

"  Who  could  have  doubted  ?  Of  course  the  council  do  not 
think  that  I  approved  of  that  mad  scheme  ? " 

"  At  all  events,  sir,"  said  Edwards,  submissively,  "  you  per- 
mitted it." 


236  SUNRISE. 

"  Permitted  it !  Yes  ;  to  please  old  Calabressa,  who  imag- 
ines himself  a  diplomatist.  But  who  could  have  doubted  what 
the  end  would  be  ?  Well,  what  further  ?  " 

"  I  understand  that  a  message  is  on  its  way  to  you  from  the 
council,"  said  the  other,  speaking  in  still  lower  tones,  "giving 
further  instructions.  They  consider  it  of  great  importance 
that — it — should  be  done  by  one  of  the  English  section ;  so 
that  no  one  may  imagine  it  arises  from  a  private  revenge." 

Lind  was  toying  with  one  of  the  pieces  of  the  broken 
paper-knife. 

"  Zaccatelli  has  had  the  warning,"  Edwards  continued. 
"  Granaglia  took  it.  The  Cardinal  is  mad  with  fright — will 
do  anything." 

Lind  seemed  to  rouse  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  friend  Edwards.  I  did  not  hear. 
What  were  you  saying  ? " 

"  I  was  saying  that  the  Cardinal  had  had  the  decree  an- 
nounced to  him,  and  is  mad  with  fear,  and  he  will  do  anything. 
He  offers  thirty  thousand  lire  a  year ;  not  only  that,  but  he 
will  try  to  get  his  Holiness  to  give  his  countenance  to  the 
Society.  Fancy,  as  Calabressa  says,  what  the  world  would  say 
to  an  alliance  between  the  Vatican  and  the  SOCIETY  OF  THE 
SEVEN  STARS  ! " 

Lind  seemed  incapable  of  paying  attention  to  this  new  vis- 
itor, so  absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  thoughts.  He  had  again 
to  rouse  himself  forcibly. 

"Yes,"  he  said  ;  "you  were  saying,  friend  Edwards,  that 
the  Starving  Cardinal  had  become  aware  of  the  decree. 
Yes;  well,  then?" 

"Did  you  not  hear,  sir  ?  He  thinks  there  should  be  an  alli- 
ance between  the  Vatican  and  the  Society." 

"  His  Eminence  is  jocular,  considering  how  near  he  is  to 
the  end  of  his  life,"  said  Lind,  absently. 

"  Further,"  Edwards  continued,  "  he  has  sent  back  the 
daughter  of  old  De  Bedros,  who,  it  seems,  first  claimed  the 
decree  against  him  ;  and  he  is  to  give  her  a  dowry  of  ten  thou- 
sand lire  when  she  marries.  But  all  these  promises  and  pro- 
posals do  not  seem  to  have  weighed  much  with  the  council." 

Here  Edwards  stopped.  He  perceived  plainly  that  Lind — 
who  sat  with  his  brows  drawn  down,  and  a  sombre  look  on  his 
face — was  not  listening  to  him  at  all.  Presently  Lind  rose, 
and  said, 

"  My  good  Edwards,  I  have  some  business  of  serious  impor- 
tance to  attend  to  at  once.  Now  you  will  give  me  the  re- 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  237 

port  of  your  journey  some  other  time.  To-night — at  nine 
o'clock  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  if  that  will  suit  you." 

"  Can  you  come  to  my  .house  in  Curzon  Street  at  nine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  Very  well.  I  am  your  debtor.  But  stay  a  moment.  Of 
course,  I  understand  from  you  that  nothing  that  has  happened 
interferes  with  the  decree  against  our  excellent  friend  the 
Cardinal  ? " 

"  So  it  appears." 

"  The  Council  are  not  to  be  bought  over  by  idle  promises  ?  " 

"  Apparently  not." 

"  Very  well.  Then  you  will  come  to-night  at  nine ;  in  my 
little  study  there  will  be  no  interruption  ;  you  can  give  me  all 
the  details  of  your  holiday.  Ha,  my  friend  Edwards,"  he 
added  more  pleasantly,  as  he  opened  the  door  for  his  vis- 
itor, "  would  it  not  be  better  for  you  to  give  up  that  Museum 
altogether,  and  come  over  to  us  ?  Then  you  would  have 
many  a  pleasant  little  trip." 

"  I  suspect  the  Museum  is  most  likely  to  give  me  up,"  said 
Edwards,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  descended  the  narrow  twilight 
stairs. 

Then  Lind  returned  to  his  desk,  and  sat  clown.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  afterward,  when  Reitzei  came  into  the  room, 
he  found  him  still  sitting  there,  without  any  papers  what- 
soever before  him.  The  angry  glance  that  Lind  directed 
to  him  as  he  entered  told  him  that  the  master  did  not  wish 
to  be  disturbed  ;  so  he  picked  up  a  book  of  reference  by  way 
of  excuse,  and  retreated  into  the  farther  room,  leaving  Lind 
once  more  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AN  ENCOUNTER 

THIS  was  an  October  morning,  in  the  waning  of  the  year  ; 
and  yet  so  bright  and  clear  and  fresh  was  it,  even  in  the  mid- 
dle of  London,  that  one  could  have  imagined  the  spring  had 
returned.  The  world  was  full  of  a  soft  diffused  light,  from 
the  pale  clouds  sailing  across  the  blue  to  the  sheets  of  silver 
widening  out  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Thames  ;  but  here 
and  there  the  sun  caught  some  shining  surface — the  lip  of  a 
marble  fountain,  the  glass  of  a  lamp  on  the  Embankment,  or 


238  SUNRISE. 

the  harness  of  some  merchant-prince's  horses  prancing  into 
town — and  these  were  sharp  jewel-like  gleams  amidst  the 
vague  general  radiance.  The  air  was  sweet  and  clear  ;  the 
white  steam  blown  from  the  engines  on  Hungerford  Bridge 
showed  that  the  wind  was  westerly.  Two  lovers  walked  be- 
low, in  the  Embankment  gardens,  probably  listening  but  little 
to  the  murmur  of  the  great  city  around  them.  Surely  the 
spring  had  come  again,  and  youth  and  love  and  hope  !  The 
solitary  occupant  of  this  chamber  that  overlooked  the  gardens 
and  the  shining  river  did  not  stay  to  ask  why  his  heart  should 
be  so  full  of  gladness,  why  this  beautiful  morning  should 
yield  him  so  much  delight.  He  was  thinking  chiefly  that  on 
such  a  morning  Natalie  would  be  abroad  soon  ;  she  loved  the 
sunlight  and  the  sweet  air. 

It  was  far  too  fine  a  morning,  indeed,  to  spend  in  a  muse- 
um, even  with  all  Madame  Potecki's  treasures  spread  out  be- 
fore one.  So,  instead  of  going  to  South  Kensington,  he  went 
straight  up  to  Curzon  Street.  Early  as  he  was,  he  was  not 
too  early,  for  he  was  leisurely  walking  along  the  pavement 
when,  ahead  of  him,  he  saw  Natalie  and  her  little  maid  come 
forth  and  set  out  westward.  He  allowed  them  to  reach  the 
park  gates  ;  then  he  overtook  them.  Anneli  fell  a  little  way 
behind. 

Now,  whether  it  was  the  brightness  of  the  morning  had 
raised  her  spirits,  or  that  she  had  been  reasoning  herself  in- 
to a  more  courageous  frame  of  mind,  it  was  soon  very  clear 
that  Natalie  was  not  at  all  so  anxious  and  embaraassed  as 
she  had  shown  herself  the  day  before  when  they  parted. 

"  There  was  no  letter  from  you  this  morning,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile,  though  she  did  not  look  up  into  his  face. 
"Then  I  have  offered  myself  to  you,  and  am  refused  ? " 

"  How  could  I  write  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  tried  once  or  twice, 
and  then  I  saw  I  must  wait  until  I  could  tell  you  face  to  face 
all  that  I  think  of  your  bravery  and  your  goodness.  And 
now  that  I  see  you  Natalie,  it  is  not  a  bit  better  :  I  can't  tell 
you ;  I  am  so  happy  to  be  near  you,  to  be  beside  you,  and 
hear  your  voice,  that  I  don't  think  I  can  say  anything  at  all." 

"  I  am  refused,  then  ?  "  said  she,  shyly. 

"  Refused  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There  are  some  things  one 
cannot  refuse — like  the  sunshine.  But  do  you  know  what  a 
terrible  sacrifice  you  are  making  ?  " 

"  It  is  you,  then,  who  are  making  no  sacrifice  at  all,"  she 
said,  reproachfully.  "  What  do  I  sacrifice  more  than  every 
girl  must  sacrifice  when  she  marries  ?  England  is  not  my 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  239 

home  as  it  is  your  home  ;  we  have  lived  everywhere  ;  I  have 
no  childhood's  friends  to  leave,  as  many  a  girl  has." 

"  Your  father—" 

"  After  a  little  while  my  father  will  scarcely  miss  me ;  he 
is  too  busy." 

But  presently  she  added, 

"  If  you  had  remained  in  England  I  should  never  have 
been  your  wife." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  said  with  some  surprise. 

"  I  should  never  have  married  against  my  father's  wishes," 
she  said,  thoughtfully.  "  No.  My  promise  to  you  was  that 
I  would  be  your  wife,  or  the  wife  of  no  one.  I  would  have 
kept  that  promise.  But  as  long  as  we  could  have  seen  each 
other,  and  been  with  .each  other  from  time  to  time,  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  married  against  my  father's  wish.  Now  it 
is  quite  different.  Your  going  to  America  has  changed  it 
all.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  you  don't  know  what  I  suffered  one 
or  two  nights  before  I  could  decide  what  was  right  for  me  to 
do!" 

"  I  can  guess,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  in  answer  to  that 
brief  sigh  of  hers. 

Then  she  grew  more  cheerful  in  manner. 

"  But  that  is  all  over  ;  and  now,  am  I  accepted  ?  I  think 
you  are  like  Naomi  :  it  was  only  when  she  saw  that  Ruth 
was  very  determined  to  go  with  her  that  she  left  off  protest- 
ing. And  I  am  to  consider  America  as  my  future  home  ? 
Well,  at  all  events,  one  will  be  able  to  breathe  freely  there. 
It  is  not  a  country  weighed  clown  with  standing  armies  and 
conscriptions  and  fortifications.  How  could  one  live  in  a 
town  like  Coblentz,  or  Metz,  or  Brest  ?  The  poor  wretches 
marching  this  way  and  inarching  that — you  watch  them  from 
your  hotel  window — the  young  men  and  the  middle-aged  men. 
— and  you  know  that  they  would  rather  be  away  at  their 
farms,  or  in  their  factories,  or  saw-pits,  or  engine-houses, 
working  for  their  wives  and  children — " 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  "  you  are  only  half  a  woman  :  you 
don't  care  about  military  glory." 

"  It  is  the  most  mean,  the  most  cruel  and  contemptible 
thing  under  the  sun  !  "  she  said,  passionately.  "  What  is  the 
quality  that  makes  a  great  hero — a  great  general — nowadays  ? 
Courage  ?  Not  a  bit.  It  is  callousness  ! — an  absolute  indif- 
ference to  the  slaughtering  of  human  lives  !  You  sit  in  your 
tent — you  sit  on  horseback — miles  away  from  the  fighting ; 
and  if  the  poor  wretches  are  being-  destroyed  here  or  there 
in  too  great  quantities,  if  they  are  ridden  down  by  the  horses 


2^o  S&NRISE. 

and  torn  to  pieces  by  the  mitrailleuses,  *  Oh,  clap  on  another 
thousand  or  two  :  the  place  must  be  taken  at  all  risks.'  Yes, 
indeed  ;  but  not  much  risk  to  you  !  For  if  you  fail — if  all 
the  thousands  of  men  have  been  hurled  against  the  stone  and 
lead  only  to  be  thrown  back  crushed  and  murdered — why, 
you  have  fought  with  great  courage — you,  the  great  general, 
sitting  in  your  saddle  miles  away  ;  it  is  you  who  have  shown 
extraordinary  courage  ! — but  numbers  were  against  you  :  and 
if  you  win,  you  have  shown  still  greater  courage  ;  and  the 
audacity  of  the  movement  was  so  and  so  ;  and  your  dogged 
persistence  was  so  and  so  ;  and  you  get  another  star  for  your 
breast ;  and  all  the  world  sings  your  praises.  And  who  is  to 
court-martial  a  great  hero  for  reckless  waste  of  human  life  ? 
Who  is  to  tell  him  that  he  is  a  cruel-hearted  coward  ?  Who 
is  to  take  him  to  the  fields  he  has  saturated  with  blood, 
and  compel  him  to  count  the  corpses  ;  or  to  take  him  to  the 
homesteads  he  has  ruined  throughout  the  land,  and  ask  the 
women  and  sons  and  the  daughters  what  they  think  of  this 
marvellous  courage  ?  Oh  no  ;  he  is  away  back  in  the  capital 
—there  is  a  triumphal  procession  ;  all  we  want  now  is  another 
war-tax — for  the  peasant  must  pay  with  his  money  as  well  as 
with  his  blood — and  another  levy  of  the  young  men  to  be 
taken  and  killed  !  " 

This  was  always  a  sore  point  with  Natalie  ;  and  he  did  not 
seek  to  check  her  enthusiasm  with  any  commonplace  and  ob- 
vious criticisms.  When  she  got  into  one  of  these  moods  of 
proud  indignation,  which  was  not  seldom,  he  loved  her  a)*  the 
more.  There  was  something  in  the  ring  of  her  voice  that 
touched  him  to  the  heart.  Such  noble,  quick,  generous 
sympathy  seemed  to  him  far  too  beautiful  and  rare  a  thing  to 
be  met  by  argument  and  analysis.  When  he  .heard  that  pa- 
thetic tremulousness  in  her  voice,  he  was  ready  to  believe 
anything.  When  he  looked  at  the  proud  lips  and  the  moist- 
ened eyes,  what  cause  that  had  won  such  eloquent  advocacy 
would  he  not  have  espoused  ? 

"  Ah,  well,  Natalie,"  said  he,  "  some  day  the  mass  of  the 
people  of  the  earth  will  be  brought  to  see  that  all  that  can  be 
put  a  stop  to,  if  they  so  choose.  They  have  the  power  :  Zah- 
len  regieren  die  Welt ;  and  how  can  one  be  better  employed 
than  in  spreading  abroad  knowledge,  and  showing  the  poorer 
people  of  the  earth  how  the  world  might  be  governed  if  they 
would  only  ally  themselves  together  ?  It  would  be  more  easy 
to  persuade  them  if  we  had  all  of  us  your  voice  and  your  en- 
thusiasm." 

"  Mine  ?  "  she  said.     "  A  woman's  talking  is  not  likely  to 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  241 

be  of  much  use.  But,"  she  added,  rather  hesitatingly,  "  at 
least — she  can  give  her  sympathy — and  her  love — to  those 
who  are  doing  the  real  work." 

"  And  I  am  going  to  earn  yours,  Natalie,"  said  he,  cheer- 
fully, "  to  such  a  degree  as  you  have  never  dreamed  of,  when 
you  and  I  together  are  away  in  the  new  world.  And  that  re- 
minds me  now  you  must  not  be  frightened ;  but  there  is  a 
little  difficulty.  Of  course  you  thought  of  nothing,  when 
you  wrote  those  lines,  but  of  doing  a  kindness  ;  that  was 
like  you  ;  your  heart  speaks  quickly.  Well — " 

He  himself  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  You  see,  Natalie,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  at  all  if  you 
and  I  could  get  married  within  the  next  few  days." 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  she  was  silent. 

"  You  don't  think  it  possible  you  could  get  your  father  to 
consent  ?  "  he  said,  but  without  much  hope. 

"Oh  no,  I  think  not ;  I  fear  not,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Then  you  see,  Natalie,"  he  continued — arid  he  spoke 
quite  Jightly,  as  if  it  was  merely  an  affair  of  a  moment — 
"  there  would  be  this  little  awkwardness  :  you  are  not  of  age  ; 
unless  you  get  your  father's  consent,  you  cannot  marry  until 
you  are  twenty-one.  It  is  not  a  long  time — " 

"  I  did  not  think  of  it,"  she  said,  very  hurriedly,  and  even 
breathlessly.  "I  only  thought  it — it  seemed  hard  you  should 
go  away  alone — and  I  considered  myself  already  your  wife — 
and  I  said,  '  What  ought  I  to  do  ? '  And  now — now  you  will 
tell  me  what  to  do.  I  do  not  know — I  have  no  one  to  ask." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  that  you  would 
forgot  me,  if  you  were  to  remain  two  years  in  England  while 
I  was  in  America  ?  " 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  those  large,  true  eyes 
of  hers  ;  and  she  did  not  answer  in  words. 

"  There  is  another  way  ;  but — it  is  asking  too  much,"  he 
said. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  calmly. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  said,  with  some  hesitation,  "  that  if  I 
could  bribe  Madame  Potecki  to  leave  her  music-lessons — and 
take  charge  of  you — and  bring  you  to  America — and  you  and 
she  might  live  there  until  you  are  twenty-one — but  I  see  it  is 
impossible.  It  is  too  selfish.  I  should  not  have  thought  of  it. 
What  are  two  years,  Natalie  ?  " 

The  girl  answered  nothing ;  she  was  thinking  deeply. 
When  she  next  spoke,  it  was  about  Lord  Evelyn,  and  of  the 
probability  of  his  crossing  to  the  States,  and  remaining  there 
for  a  year  or  two ;  and  she  wanted  to  know  more  about  the 


242  SUNRISE. 

great  country  beyond  the  seas,  and  what  was  Philadelphia 
like. 

Well,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  these  two,  so  busy 
with  their  own  affairs,  were  likely  to  notice  much  that  was 
passing  around  them,  as  the  forenoon  sped  rapidly  away,  and 
Natalie  had  to  think  of  getting  home  again.  But  the  little 
German  maid  servant  was  not  so  engrossed.  She  was  letting 
her  clear,  observant  blue  eyes  stray  from  the  pretty  young 
ladies  riding  in  the  Row  to  the  people  walking  under  the 
trees,  and  from  them  again  to  the  banks  of  the  Serpentine, 
where  the  dogs  were  barking  at  the  ducks.  In  doing  so  she 
happened  to  look  a  little  bit  behind  her ;  then  suddenly  she 
started,  and  said  to  herself,  '  Herrjc!'  But  the  little  maid 
had  her  wits  about  her.  She  pretended  to  have  seen  nothing. 
Gradually,  however,  she  lessened  the  distance  between  her- 
self and  her  young  mistress ;  then,  when  she  was  quite  up  to 
her,  and  walking  abreast  with  her,  she  said,  in  a  low,  quick 
voice. 

"  Fraulein  !  Fraulein  ! " 

"  What  is  it,  Anneli  ?  " 

George  Brand  was  listening  too.  He  wondered  that  the 
girl  seemed  so  excited,  and  yet  spoke  low,  and  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground. 

"  Ah,  do  not  look  round,  Fraulein  ! "  said  she,  in  the  same 
hurried  way.  "  Do  not  look  round  !  But  it  is  the  lady  who 
gave  you  the  locket.  She  is  walking  by  the  lake.  She  is 
watching  you." 

Natalie  did  not  look  round.  She  turned  to  her  companion, 
and  said,  without  any  agitation  whatever, 

"  Do  you  remember,  dearest  ?  I  showed  you  the  locket, 
and  told  you  about  my  mysterious  visitor.  Now  Anneli  says 
she  is  walking  by  the  side  of  the  lake.  I  may  go  and  speak 
to  her,  may  I  not  ?  Because  it  was  so  wicked  of  Calabressa 
to  say  some  one  had  stolen  the  locket,  and  wished  to  restore 
it  after  many  years.  I  never  had  any  such  locket." 

She  was  talking  quite  carelessly ;  it  was  Brand  himself  who 
was  most  perturbed.  He  knew  well  who  that  stranger  must 
be,  if  Anneli's  sharp  eyes  had  not  deceived  her. 

"  No,  Natalie,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  you  must  not  go  and 
speak  to  her ;  and  do  not  look  round,  either.  Perhaps  she 
does  not  wish  to  be  seen  :  perhaps  she  would  go  away.  Leave 
it  to  me,  my  darling;  I  will  find  out  all  about  her  for  you." 

"  But  it  is  very  strange,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  shall  begin  to 
be  afraid  of  this  emissary  of  Santa  Clans  if  she  continues  to 
be  so  mysterious  ;  and  I  do  not  like  mystery  :  I  think,  dearest, 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  243 

I  must  go  and  speak  to  her.  She  can  not  mean  me  any  harm. 
She  has  brought  me  flowers  again  and  again  on  my  birthday, 
if  it  is  the  same.  She  gave  me  the  little  locket  I  showed 
you.  Why  may  not  I  stop  and  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"Not  now,  my  darling,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  her 
arm.  "  Let  me  find  out  about  her  first." 

"  And  how  are  you  going  to  do  that  ?  In  a  few  minutes, 
perhaps,  she  goes  away ;  and  when  will  you  see  her  again  ? 
It  is  many  months  since  Anneli  saw  her  last ;  and  Anneli  sees 
everything  and  everybody." 

"  We  will  cross  the  bridge,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  for  he 
knew  not  how  near  the  stranger  might  be,  "  and  walk  on  to 
Park  Lane.  Anneli  must  tell  us  how  far  she  follows.  If  she 
turns  aside  anywhere  I  will  bid  you  good-bye  and  see  where 
she  goes.  Do  you  understand,  Natalie  ?  " 

She  certainly  did  not  understand  why  he  should  speak  so 
seriously  about  it. 

"  And  I  am  to  be  marched  like  a  prisoner  ?  I  may  not 
turn  my  head  ?  " 

She  began  to  be  amused.  He  scarcely  knew  what  to  say 
to  her.  At  last  he  said,  earnestly, 

"  Natalie,  it  is  of  gr^at  importance  to  you  that  I  should  see 
this  lady — that  I  should  try  to  see  her.  Do  as  I  bid  you,  my 
dearest." 

"  Then  you  know  who  she  is  ?  "  said  Natalie,  promptly. 

"  I  have  a  suspicion,  at  all  events ;  and — and — something 
may  happen — that  you  will  be  glad  of." 

"  What,  more  mysterious  presents  ?  "  the  girl  said,  lightly  ; 
"  more  messages  from  Santa  Glaus  ?  " 

He  could  not  answer  her.  The  consciousness  that  this 
might  be  indeed  Natalie's  mother  who  was  so  near  to  them  ; 
the  fear  of  the  possible  consequences  of  any  sudden  disclos- 
ure ;  the  thought  that  this  opportunity  might  escape  him,  and 
he  leaving  in  a  few  days  for  America  :  all  these  things  whirled 
through  his  brain  in  rapid  and  painful  succession.  But  there 
was  soon  to  be  an  end  of  them.  Natalie,  still  obediently  fol- 
lowing his  instructions,  and  yet  inclined  to  make  light  of  the 
whole  thing,  and  himself  arrived  at  the  gates  of  the  park  ; 
Anneli,  as  formerly,  being  somewhat  behind.  Receiving  no 
intimation  from  her,  they  crossed  the  road  to  the  corner  of 
Great  Stanhope  Street.  But  they  had  not  proceeded  far  when 
Anneli  said, 

ft  Ah,  Fraulein,  the  lady  is  gone  !  You  may  look  after  her 
now.  See ! " 

That  was  enough  for  George  Brand.     He  had  no  difficulty 


244  SUNRISE. 

in  making  out  the  dark  figure  that  Anneli  indicated  ;  and  he 
was  in  no  great  hurry,  for  he  feared  the  stranger  might  dis- 
cover that  she  was  being  followed.  But  he  breathed  more 
freely  when  he  had  bidden  good-bye  to  Natalie,  and  seen  her 
set  out  for  home. 

He  leisurely  walked  up  Park  Lane,  keeping  an  eye  from 
time  to  time  on  the  figure  in  black,  but  not  paying  too  strict 
attention,  lest  she  should  turn  suddenly  and  observe  him.  In 
this  way  he  followed  her  up  to  Oxford  Street ;  and  there,  in  the 
more  crowded  thoroughfare,  he  lessened  the  distance  between 
them  considerably.  He  also  watched  more  closely  now,  and 
with  a  strange  interest.  From  the  graceful  carriage,  the 
beautiful  figure,  he  was  almost  convinced  that  that,  indeed, 
was  Natalie's  mother;  and  he  began  to  wonder  what  he 
would  say  to  her — how  he  would  justify  his  interference. 

The  stranger  stopped  at  a  door  next  a  shop  in  the  Edgware 
Road ;  knocked,  waited,  and  was  admitted.  Then  the  door 
was  shut  again. 

It  was  obviously  a  private  lodging-house.  He  took  a  half- 
crown  in  his  hand  to  bribe  the  maid-servant,  and  walked 
boldly  up  to  the  door  and  knocked.  It  was  not  a  maid-ser- 
vant who  answered,  however ;  it  was  a  man  who  looked  some- 
thing like  an  English  butler,  and  yet  there  was  a  foreign 
touch  about  his  dress — probably,  Brand  thought,  the  land- 
lord. Brand  pulled  out  a  card-case,  and  pretended  to  have 
some  difficulty  in  getting  a  card  from  it. 

"  The  lady  who  came  in  just  now — "  he  said,  still  looking 
at  the  cards. 

"  Madame  Berezolyi  ?     Yes,  sir." 

His  heart  jumped.  But  he  calmly  took  out  a  pencil,  and 
wrote  on  one  of  the  cards,  in  French,  "  One  who  knows  your 
daughter  would  like  to  see  you" 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  up  that  card  to  Madame 
Berezolyi  ?  I  think  she  will  see  me.  I  will  wait  here  till  you 
come  down." 

The  man  returned  in  a  couple  of  minutes. 

"  Madame  Berezolyi  will  be  pleased  to  see  you,  sir ;  will 
you  step  this  way  ?  " 


THE  MOTHER.  245 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  MOTHER. 

THIS  beautiful,  pale,  trembling  mother :  she  stood  there, 
dark  against  the  light  of  the  window ;  but  even  in  the  shadow 
how  singularly  like  she  was  to  Natalie,  in  the  tall,  slender, 
elegant  figure,  the  proud  set  of  the  head,  the  calm,  intellec- 
tual brows,  and  the  large,  tender,  dark  eyes,  as  soft  and 
pathetic  as  those  of  a  doe— only  this  woman's  face  was  worn 
and  sad,  and  her  hair  was  silver-gray. 

She  was  greatly  agitated,  and  for  a  second  or  two  incapa- 
ble of  speech.  But  when  he  began  in  French  to  apologize 
for  his  intrusion,  she  eagerly  interrupted  him. 

"Ah,,  no,  no  !"  she  said,  in  the  same  tongue.  "Do  not 
waste  words  in  apology.  You  have  come  to  tell  me  about 
my  child,  my  Natalie  :  Heaven  bless  you  for  it ;  it  is  a  great 
kindness.  To-day  I  saw  you  walking  with  her — listening  to 
her  voice — ah,  how  I  envied  you  ! — and  once  or  twice  I 
thought  of  going  to  her  and  taking  her  hand,  and  saying  only 
one  word — *  Natalushka  ! '  " 

"  That  would  have  been  a  great  imprudence,"  said  he 
gravely.  "  If  you  wish  to  speak  to  your  daughter — " 

"  If  I  wish  to  speak  to  her  ! — if  I  wish  to  speak  to  her !  " 
she  exclaimed ;  and  there  were  tears  in  her  voice,  if  there 
were  none  in  the  sad  eyes. 

"  You  forget,  madame,  that  your  daughter  has  been  brought 
up  in  the  belief  that  you  died  when  she  was  a  mere  infant. 
Consider  the  effect  of  any  sudden  disclosure." 

"  But  has  she  never  suspected  ?  I  have  passed  her  ;  she 
has  seen  me.  I  gave  her  a  locket :  what  did  she  think  ?  " 

"  She  was  puzzled,  yes  ;  but  how  would  it  occur  to  the  girl 
that  any  one  could  be  so  cruel  as  to  conceal  from  her  all 
those  years  the  fact  that  her  mother  was  alive  ? " 

"  Then  you  yourself,  monsieur — " 

"  I  knew  it  from  Calabressa." 

"  Ah,  my  old  friend  Calabressa !  And  he  was  here,  in 
London,  and  he  saw  my  Natalie.  Perhaps — " 

She  paused  for  a  second. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  he  who  sent  the  message.  I  heard — it 
was  only  a  word  or  two — that  my  daughter  had  found  a 
lover." 

She  regarded  him.  She  had  the  same  calm  fearlessness  of 
look  that  dwelt  in  Natalie's  eyes. 


246  SUNRISE. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  monsieur.  Do  I  guess  right  ?  •  It  is 
to  you  that  my  child  has  given  her  love  ? " 

"  That  is  my  happiness,"  said  he.     "  I  wish  I  were  better 
worthy  of  it." 
'She  still  regarded  him  very  earnestly,  and  in  silence. 

"  When  I  heard,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that 
my  Natalie  had  given  her  love  to  a  stranger,  my  heart  sunk. 
I  said,  '  More  than  ever  is  she  away  from  me  now ; '  and  I 
wondered  what  the  stranger  might  be  like,  and  whether  he 
would  be  kind  to  her.  Now  that  I  see  you,  I  am  not  so  sad. 
There  is  something  in  your  voice,  in  your  look,  that  tells  me 
to  have  confidence  in  you  :  you  will  be  kind  to  Natalie." 

She  seemed  to  be  thinking  aloud  :  and  yet  he  was  not  em- 
barrassed by  this  confession,  nor  yet  by  her  earnest  look ;  he 
perceived  how  all  her  thoughts  were  really  concentrated  on 
her  daughter. 

"Her  father  approves?"  said  this  sad-faced,  gray-haired 
woman. 

"  Oh  no ;  quite  the  contrary." 

"  But  he  is  kind  to  her  ? "  she  said,  quickly,  and  anxiously. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  answered.  "  No  doubt  he  is  kind  to  her. 
Who  could  be  otherwise  ?  " 

She  had  been  so  agitated  at  the  beginning  of  this  inter- 
view that  she  had  allowed  her  visitor  to  remain  standing. 
She  now  asked  him  to  be  seated,  and  took  a  chair  opposite 
to  him.  Her  nervousness  had  in  a  measure  disappeared ; 
though  at  times  she  clasped  the  ringers  of  both  hands  to- 
gether, as  if  to  force  herself  to  be  composed. 

"  You  will  tell  me  all  about  it,  monsieur ;  that  I  may  know 
what  to  say  when  I  speak  to  my  child  at  last.  Ah,  heavens, 
if  you  could  understand  how  full  my  heart  is :  sixteen  years 
of  silence !  Think  what  a  mother  has  to  say  to  her  only 
child  after  that  time  !  It  was  cruel — cruel — cruel !  " 

A  little  convulsive  sob  was  the  only  sign  of  her  emotion, 
and  the  fingers  were  clasped  together. 

"  Pardon  me,  madame,"  said  he,  with  some  hesitation ; 
"  but,  you  see,  I  do  not  know  the  circumstances — " 

"  You  do  not  know  why  I  dared  not  speak  to  my  own 
daughter  ? "  she  said,  looking  up  in  surprise.  "  Calabressa 
did  not  tell  you  ? " 

"  No.     There  were  some  hints  I  did  not  understand." 

"  Nor  of  the  reasons  that  forced  me  to  comply  with  such 
an  inhuman  demand  ?  Alas  !  these  reasons  exist  no  longer. 
I  have  done  my  duty  to  one  whose  life  was  sacred  to  me ; 
now  his  death  has  released  me  from  fear;  I  come  to  my 


THE  MOTHER.  247 

daughter  now.  Ah,  when  I  fold  her  to  my  heart,  what  shall 
I  say  to  her — what  but  this  ? — '  Natalushka,  if  your  mother 
has  remained  away  from  you  all  these  years,  it  was  not  be- 
cause she  did  not  love  you.' " 

He  drew  his  chair  nearer,  and  took  her  hand. 

"  I  perceive  that  you  have  suffered,  and  deeply.  But  your 
daughter  will  make  amends  to  you.  She  loves  you  now ; 
you  are  a  saint  to  her ;  your  portrait  is  her  dearest  posses- 
sion—" 

"  My  portrait  ? "  .she  said,  looking  rather  bewildered. 
"  Her  father  has  not  forbidden  her  that,  then  ?  " 

"  It  was  Calabressa  who  gave  it  to  her  quite  recently." 

She  gently  withdrew  her  hand,  and  glanced  at  the  table, 
on  which  two  books  lay,  and  sighed. 

"  The,  English  tongue  is  so  difficult,"  she  said.  "  And  I 
have  so  much — so  much — to  say  !  I  have  written  out  many 
things  that  I  wish  to  tell  her ;  and  have  repeated  them,  and 
repeated  them ;  but  the  sound  is  not  right — the  sound  is  not 
like  what  my  heart  wishes  to  say  to  her." 

"  Reassure  yourself,  madame,  on  that  point,"  said  he, 
cheerfully  :  "  I  should  imagine  there  is  scarcety  any  language 
in  Europe  that  your  daughter  does  not  know  something  of. 
You  will  not  have  to  speak  English  to  her  at  all." 

She  looked  up  with  bright  eagerness  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  not  Magyar  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  for  certain,"  he  said,  "  for  I  don't  know 
Magyar  myself ;  but  I  am  almost  convinced  she  must  know 
it.  She  has  told  me  so  much  about  her  countrymen  that 
used  to  come  about  the  house ;  yes,  surely  they  would  speak 
Magyar." 

A  strange  happy  light  came  into  the  woman's  face ;  she 
was  communing  with  herself — perhaps  going  over  mentally 
some  tender  phrases,  full  of  the  soft  vowel  sounds  of  the 
Magyar  tongue. 

"  That,"  said  she,  presently,  and  in  a  low  voice,  "  would 
be  my  crowning  joy.  I  have  thought  of  what  I  should  say  to 
her  in  many  languages ;  but  always  '  My  daughter,  I  love 
you,'  did  not  have  the  right  sound.  In  our  own  tongue  it 
goes  to  the  heart.  I  am  no  longer  afraid :  my  girl  will  un- 
derstand me." 

"I  should  think,"  said  he,  "you  will  not  have  to  speak 
much  to  assure  her  of  your  love." 

She  seemed  to  become  a  great  deal  more  cheerful;  this 
matter  had  evidently  been  weighing  on  her  mind. 

"Meanwhile,"  she   said,  "you    promised   to    tell    me    all 


248  SUNKISE. 

about  Natalie  and  yourself.  Her  father  does  not  approve  of 
your  marrying.  Well,  his  reasons  ?  " 

"  If  he  has  any,  he  is  careful  to  keep  them  to  himself,"  he 
said.  "But  I  can  guess  at  some  of  them.  No  doubt  he 
would  rather  not  have  Natalie  marry ;  it  would  deprive  him 
of  an  excellent  house-keeper.  Then  again — and  this  is  the 
only  reason  he  does  give — he  seems  to  consider  it  would  be 
inexpedient  as  regards  the  work  we  are  all  engaged  in — " 

"  You  !  "  she  said,  with'a  sudden  start.  "Are  you  in  the 
Society  also  ? " 

"  Certainly,  madame." 

"  What  grade  ? " 

He  told  her. 

"  Then  you  are  helpless  if  he  forbids  your  marriage." 

"  On  the  contrary,  madame,  my  marriage  or  non-marriage 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  my  obedience  to  the  Soci- 
ety." 

"  He  has  control  over  Natalie — " 

"  Until  she  is  twenty-one,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"  But,"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  some  apprehension  in 
her  eyes,  "you  do  not  say — you  do  not  suggest — that  the 
child  is  opposed  to  her  father — that  she  thinks  of  marrying 
you,  when  she  may  legally  do  so,  against  his  wish  ?  " 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  he,  "  it  will  be  difficult  for  you  to 
understand  how  all  this  affair  rests  until  you  get  to  know 
something  more  about  Natalie  herself.  She  is  not  like  other 
girls.  She  has  courage  ;  she  has  opinions  of  her  own  :  when 
she  thinks  that  such  and  such  a  thing  is  right,  she  is  not 
afraid  to  do  it,  whatever  it  may  be.  Now,  she  believes  her 
father's  opposition  to  be  unjust ;  and — and  perhaps  there  is 
something  else  that  has  influenced  her :  well,  the  fact  is,  I 
am  ordered  off  to  America,  and — and  the  girl  has  a  quick 
and  generous  nature,  and  she  at  once  offered  to  share  what 
she  calls  my  banishment." 

"  To  leave  her  father's  house  ! "  said  the  mother,  with  in- 
creasing alarm. 

Brand  looked  at  her.  He  could  not  understand  this  ex- 
pression of  anxious  concern.  If,  as  he  was  beginning  to  as- 
sure himself,  Lind  was  the  cause  of  that  long  and  cruel  sep- 
aration between  mother  and  daughter,  why  should  this 
woman  be  aghast  at  the  notion  of  Natalie  leaving  such  a 
guardian  ?  Or  was  it  merely  a  superstitious  fear  of  him,  sim- 
ilar to  that  which  seemed  to  possess  Calabressa  ? 

"  In  dealing  with  your  daughter,  madame,"  he  continued, 
"one  has  to  be  careful  not  to  take  advantage  of  her  forgetful- 


THE  MOTHER.  249 

ness  of  herself.  She  is  too  willing  to  sacrifice  herself  for 
others.  Now  to-day  we  were  talking — as  she  is  not  free  to 
marry  until  she  is  twenty-one — about  her  perhaps  going  over 
to  America  under  the  guardianship  of  Madame  Potecki — " 

"  Madame  Potecki." 

"  She  is  a  friend  of  your  daughter's — almost  a  mother  to 
her ;  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  Natalie  would  willingly  do  that 
— more  especially  under  your  guardianship,  in  preference  to 
that  of  Madame  Potecki — " 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  "  she  exclaimed,  instantly.  "  She  must  not 
dare  her  father  like  that.  Oh,  it  would  be  terrible  !  I  hope 
you  will  not  allow  her." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  daring ;  the  girl  has  courage 
enough  for  anything,"  he  said  coolly.  "  The  thing  is  that  it 
would  involve  too  great  a  sacrifice  on  her  part ;  and  I  was 
exceedingly  selfish  to  think  of  it  for  a  moment.  No  ;  let  her 
remain  in  her  father's  house  until  she  is  free  to  act  as  her 
own  mistress ;  then,  if  she  will  come  to  me,  I  shall  take  care 
that  a  proper  home  is  provided  for  her.  She  must  not  be  a 
wanderer  and  a  stranger." 

"  But  even  then,  when  she  is  free  to  act,  you  will  not  ask 
her  to  disobey  her  father  ?  Oh,  it  will  be  too  terrible  !  " 

Again  he  regarded  her  with  amazement. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  maclame  ?  What  is  terrible  ?  Or  is 
it  that  you  are  afraid  of  him  ?  Calabressa  spoke  like  that." 

"  You  do  not  know  of  what  he  is  capable,"  she  said,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  All  the  more  reason,"  he  said,  directly,  "  why  she  should 
be  removed  from  his  guardianship.  But  permit  me  to  say, 
madame,  that  I  do  not  quite  share  your  apprehensions.  I 
have  seen  nothing  of  the  bogey  kind  about  your  husband. 
Of  course,  he  is  a  man  of  strong  will,  and  he  does  not  like  to 
be  thwarted  :  without  that  strength  of  character  he  could  not 
have  done  what  he  has  done.  But  he  also  knows  that  his 
daughter  is  no  longer  a  child  \  and  when  the  proper  time 
comes  you  will  find  that  his  common  sense  will  lead  him  to 
withdraw  an  opposition  which  would  otherwise  be  futile.  Do 
I  explain  myself  clearly  ?  My  dear  madame,  have  no 
anxiety  about  the  future  of  your  daughter.  When  you  see 
herself,  when  you  speak  to  her,  you  will  find  that  she  is  one 
who  is  not  given  to  fear." 

For  a  moment  the  apprehensive  look  left  her  face.  She 
remained  silent,  a  happier  light  coming  into  her  eyes. 

"  She  is  not  sad  and  sorrowful,  then  ?  "  she  said,  presently. 

"  Oh  no  ;  she  is  too  brave." 


250  SUNRISE. 

"  What  beautiful  hair  she  has ! "  said  this  worn-faced 
woman  with  the  sad  eyes.  "Ah,  many  a  time  I  have  said  to 
myself  that  when  I  take  her  to  my  heart  I  will  feel  the  beau- 
tiful soft  hair ;  I  will  stroke  it ;  her  head  will  lie  on  my  bosom, 
and  I  will  gather  courage  from  her  eyes :  when  she  laughs  my 
heart  will  rejoice  !  I  have  lived  many  years  in  solitude — in 
secret,  with  many  apprehensions ;  perhaps  I  have  grown 
timid  and  fearful ;  once  I  was  not  so.  But  I  have  been  troub- 
ling myself  with  fears ;  I  have  said,  *  Ah,  if  she  looks  coldly 
on  me,  if  she  turns  away  from  me,  then  my  heart  will  break  ! ' ' 

"  I  do  not  think  you  have  much  to  fear,"  said  he,  regard- 
ing the  beautiful,  sad  face. 

"  I  have  tried  to  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice,"  she  con- 
tinued, absently,  and  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  "  but  I 
could  not  do  that.  But  I  have  watched  her,  and  wondered. 
She  does  not  seem  proud  and  cold." 

"  She  will  not  be  proud  or  cold  to  you,"  he  said,  "  when 
she  is  kindness  and  gentleness  .to  all  the  world." 

"  And — and  when  shall  you  see  her  again  ?  "  she  asked, 
timidly. 

"  Now,"  he  said.  "  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  go  to  her 
at  once.  I  will  bring  her  to  you." 

"Oh  no  !  "  she  exclaimed  hastily  drying  her  eyes.  "  Oh 
no  !  She  must  not  find  a  sad  mother,  who  has  been  crying. 
She  will  be  repelled.  She  will  think,  '  I  have  enough  of  sad- 
ness.' Oh  no,  you  must  let  me  collect  myself  :  I  must  be 
very  brave  and  cheerful  when  my  Natalie  comes  to  me.  I 
must  make  her  laugh,  not  cry." 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  I  may  have  but  a  few  days 
longer  in  England :  do  you  think  it  is  wise  to  put  off  the  op- 
portunity ?  You  see,  she  must  be  prepared  ;  it  would  be  a 
terrible  shock  if  she  were  to  know  suddenly.  And  how  can 
one  tell  what  may  happen  to-morrow  or  next  day  ?  At  the 
present  moment  I  know  she  is  at  home ;  I  could  bring  her  to 
you  directly." 

"  Just  now  ?  "  she  said  ;  and  she  began  to  tremble  again. 
She  rose  and  went  to  a  mirror. 

"  She  could  not  recognize  herself  in  me.  She  would  not 
believe  me.  And  I  should  frighten  her  with  my  mourning 
and  my  sadness." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  need  fear,  madame." 

She  turned  to  him  eagerly. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  explain  to  her  ?  Ah,  would  you  be 
so  kind  !  Tell  her  I  have  seen  much  trouble  of  late.  My 
father  has  just  died,  after  years  of  illness  ;  and  we  were  kept 


THE  MOTHER. 

in  perpetual  terror.  You  will  tell  her  why  I  dared  not  go  to 
her  before  :  oh  no  !  not  that — not  tli^fljj  f  j,^  ^* 

"  You  forget,  maclame,  that  I  myself  do  not  know." 

"  It  is  better  she  should  not  know — better,  she  should  not 
know  !  "  she  said,  rapidly.  "  No,  let  the  girl  have  confidence 
in  her  father  while  she  remains  in  his  house.  Perhaps  some 
time  she  may  know  ;  perhaps  some  one  who  is  a  fairer  judge 
than  I  will  tell  her  the  story  and  make  excuses :  it  must  be 
that  there  is  some  excuse." 

"  She  will  not  want  to  know  ;  she  will  only  want  to  come 
to  you." 

"  But  half  an  hour,  give  me  half  an  hour,"  she  said,  and 
she  glanced  round  the  room.  "  It  is  so  poor  a  chamber." 

"  She  will  not  think  of  the  chamber." 

"  And  the  little  girl  with  her — she  will  remain  down-stairs, 
will  she  not  ?  I  wish  to  be  alone,  quite  alone,  with  my  child." 
Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly,  and  she  clasped  her  fin- 
gers tight.  "  Oh,  monsieur,  my  heart  will  break  if  my  child 
is  cold  to  me  !  " 

"  That  is  the  last  thing  you  have  to  fear,"  said  he,  and  he 
rose.  "  Now  calm  yourself,  madame.  Recollect,  you  must 
not  frighten  your  daughter.  And  it  will  be  more  than  half 
an  hour  before  I  bring  her  to  you ;  it  will  take  more  than 
that  for  me  to  break  it  to  her." 

She  rose  also;  but  she  was  obviously  so  excited  that  she 
did  not  know  well  what  she  was  doing.  All  her  thoughts 
were  about  the  forth-coming  interview. 

"  You  are  sure  she  understands  the  Magyar  ? "  she  said 
again. 

"  No,  I  do  not  know.    But  why  not  speak  in  French  to  her  ? " 

"  It  does  not  sound  the  same — it  does  not  sound  the  same  : 
and  a  mother — can  only — talk  to  her  child — " 

"  You  must  calm  yourself,  dear  madame.  Do  you  know 
that  your  daughter  believes  you  to  have  been  a  miracle  of 
courage  and  self-reliance  ?  What  Calabressa  used  to  say  to 
her  was  this  :  *  Natalushka,  when  you  are  in  trouble  you  will 
be  brave;  you  will  show  yourself  the  daughter  of  Natalie 
Berezolyi.'  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  quickly,  as  she  again  dried  her  eyes, 
and  drew  herself  up.  "  I  beg  you  to  pardon  me.  I  have 
thought  so  much  of  this  meeting,  through  all  these  years,  that 
my  hearts  beats  too  quickly  now.  But  I  will  have  no  fear. 
She  will  come  to  me ;  I  am  not  afraid :  she  will  not  turn 
away  from  me.  And  how  am  I  to  thank  you  for  your  great 
kindness  ? "  she  added,  as  he  moved  to  the  door. 


252  SUNXISE. 

"  By  being  kind  to  Natalie  when  I  am  away  in  America," 
said  he.     "  You  will  not  find  it  a  difficult  task." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE   VELVET   GLOVE. 

FERDINAND  LIND  sat  alone,  after  Gathorne  Edwards  had 
gone,  apparently  deep  buried  in  thought.  He  leaned  forward 
over  his  desk,  his  head  resting  on  his  left  hand,  while  in  his 
right  hand  he  held  a  pencil,  with  which  he  was  mechanically 
printing  letters  on  a  sheet  of  blotting-paper  before  him. 
These  letters,  again  and  again  repeated,  formed  but  one 
phrase  :  THE  VELVET  GLOVE.  It  was  as  if  he  were  perpetu- 
ally reminding  himself,  during  the  turnings  and  twistings  of 
his  sombre  speculations,  of  the  necessity  of  being  prudent  and 
courteous  and  suave.  It  was  as  if  he  were  determined  to 
imprint  the  caution  on  his  brain — drilling  it  into  himself — 
so  that  in  no  possible  emergency  could  it  be  forgoten..  But  as 
his  thoughts  went  farther  afield,  he  began  to  play  with  the  let- 
ters, as  a  child  might.  They  began  to  assume  decorations. 
THE  VELVET  GLOVE  appeared  surrounded  with  stars;  again 
furnished  with  duplicate  lines ;  again  breaking  out  into  rays. 
At  length  he  rose,  tore  up  the  sheet  of  blotting-paper,  and 
rung  a  hand-bell  twice. 

Reitzei  appeared. 

"Where  will  Beratinski  be  this  evening?  " 

"At  the  Culturverein  :  he  sups  there." 

"  You  and  he  must  be  here  at  ten.  There  is  business  of 
importance." 

He  walked  across  the  room,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  stick. 
Perhaps  at  this  moment  the  caution  he  had  been  drilling  into 
himself  suggested  some  further  word.  He  turned  to  Reitzei, 
who  had  advanced  to  take  his  place  at  the  desk. 

"  I  mean  if  that  is  quite  convenient  to  you  both,"  he  said, 
courteously.  "  Eleven  o'clock,  if  you  please,  or  twelve  ? " 

"  Ten  will  be  quite  convenient,"  Reitzei  said. 

"  The  business  will  not  take  long." 

"  Then  we  can  return  to  the  Culturverein  :  it  is  an  exhibi- 
tion night :  one  would  not  like  to  be  altogether  absent." 

These  sombre  musings  had  consumed  some  time.  When 
Lind  went  out  he  found  it  had  grown  dark ;  the  lamps  were 
lit ;  the  stream  of  life  was  flowing  westward.  But  he  seemed 


THE  VELVET  GLOVE.  253 

in  no  great  hurry.  He  chose  unfrequented  streets ;  he  walked 
slowly ;  there  was  less  of  the  customary  spring  and  jaunti- 
ness  of  his  gait.  In  about  half  an  hour  he  had  reached  the 
door  of  Madame  Potecki's  house. 

He  stood  for  some  seconds  there  without  ringing.  Then, 
as  some  one  approached,  he  seemed  waken  out  of  a  trance. 
He  rung  sharply,  and  the  summons  was  almost  immediately 
answered. 

Madame  Potecki  was  at  home,  he  learned,  but  she  was 
dining. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  he,  abruptly  :  "  she  will  see  me.  Go 
and  ask  her." 

A  couple  of  minutes  thereafter  he  was  shown  into  a  small 
parlor,  where  Madame  Potecki  had  just  risen  to  receive  him; 
and  by  this  time  a  singular  change  had  come  over  his  manner. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  my  dear 
Madame  Potecki,"  said  he,  in  the  kindest  way,  "for  having 
interrupted  you.  Pray  continue.  I  shall  make  sure  you  for- 
give me  only  if  you  continue.  Ah,  that  is  well.  Now  I  will 
take  a  chair  also." 

Madame  Potecki  had  again  seated  herself,  certainly ;  but 
she  was  far  too  much  agitated  by  this  unexpected  visit  to  be 
able  to  go  on  with  her  repast.  She  was  alarmed  about  Nata- 
lie. 

"  You  are  surprised,  no  doubt,  at  my  coming  to  see  you,  " 
said  he,  cheerfully  and  carelessly,  "  so  soon  after  you  were 
kind  enough  to  call  on  me.  But  it  is  only  about  a  trifle  ;  1 
assure  you,  my  dear  Madame  Potecki,  it  is  only  about  a  trifle, 
and  I  must  therefore  insist  on  your  not  allowing  your  dinner 
to  get  cold." 

"  But  if  it  is  about  Natalie — " 

"  My  dear  madame,  Natalie  is  very  well.  There  is  nothing 
to  alarm  you.  Now  you  will  go  on  with  your  dinner,  and  I 
will  go  on  with  my  talking." 

Thus  constrained,  madame  again  addressed  herself  to  the 
small  banquet  spread  before  her,  which  consisted  of  a  couple 
of  sausages,  some  pickled  endive,  a  piece  of  Camembert 
cheese,  and  a  tiny  bottle  of  Erlauer.  Mr.  Lincl  turned  his 
chair  to  the  fire,  put  his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  lay  back. 
He  was  rather  smartly  dressed  this  evening,  and  he  was  pleas- 
ant in  manner. 

"  Natalie  ought  to  be  grateful  to  you,  madame,"  said  he 
lightly,  "  for  your  solicitude  about  her.  It  is  not  often  one 
finds  that  in  one  who  is  not  related  by  blood." 

"  I  have  no  one  now  left  in  the  world  to  love  but  herself," 


254  SUNRISE. 

said  madame ;  "  and  then  you  see,  my  dear  friend  Lind,  het 
position  appeals  to  one  :  it  is  sad  that  she  has  no  mother." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Lind,  with  a  trifle  of  impatience.  "  Now 
you  were  good  enough  to  come  and  tell  me  this  afternoon, 
madame.  about  that  foolish  little  romance  that  Natalie  has 
got  into  her  head.  It  was  kind  of  you  ;  it  was  well-inten- 
tioned. And  after  all,  although  that  wish  of  hers  to  go  to 
America  can  scarcely  be  serious,  it  is  but  natural  that  roman- 
tic ideas  should  get  into  the  head  of  a  younger  girl — " 

"  Did  not  I  say  that  to  her?  "  exclaimed  Madame  Potecki, 
eagerly  ;  "  and  almost  in  these  words  too.  And  did  not  I  say 
to  her,  *  Ah,  my  child,  you  must  take  care ;  you  must  take 
care  ! ' ': 

"  That  also  was  good  advice,"  said  Lind,  courteously ;  "  and 
no  doubt  Natalie  laid  it  to  her  heart.  No,  I  am  not  afraid 
of  her  doing  anything  very  wild  or  reckless.  She  is  sensible  ; 
she  thinks ;  she  has  not  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of 
sentiment.  One  may  say  this  or  that  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  when  one  is  excited ;  but  when  it  comes  to  action, 
one  reasons,  one  sees  what  one's  duty  is.  Natalie  may  have 
said  something  to  you,  madame,  about  going  to  America,  but 
not  with  any  serious  intention,  believe  me." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Madame  Potecki,  with  considerable 
hesitation. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  as  he  rose,  and  stood 
before  the  chimney-piece  mirror,  and  arranged  the  ends  of 
his  gracefully  tied  neckerchief.  "  We  come  to  another  point. 
It  was  very  kind  of  you,  my  dear  madame,  'to  bring  me  the 
news — to  tell  me  something  of  that  sort  had  been  said  ;  but 
you  know  what  ill-natured  people  will  remark.  You  get  no 
appreciation.  They  call  you  tale-bearer  !  " 

Madame  colored  slightly. 

"  It  is  ungenerous ;  it  is  not  a  fair  requital  of  kindness ; 
but  that  is  what  is  said,"  he  continued.  "  Now,  I  should  not 
like  any  friend  of  Natalie's  to  incur  such  a  charge  on  her  ac- 
count, do  you  perceive,  madame  ?  And,  in  these  circum- 
stances, do  you  not  think  that  it  would  be  better  for  both  you 
and  me  to  consider  that  you  did  not  visit  me  this  afternoon  ; 
that  I  know  nothing  of  what  idle  foolishness  Natalie  has  been 
talking  ?  Would  not  that  be  better  ?  As  for  me,  I  am  dumb." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  madame,  quickly. 
"  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  JMatalie  or  any  one  think  that 
I  was  a  mischief-maker — oh  no  !  And  did  I  not  promise  to 
you  that  I  should  say  nothing  of  my  having  called  on  you 
to-day  ?  It  is  already  a  promise." 


THE  VEL VET  GLOVE.  255 

He  turned  round  and  regarded  her. 

"  Precisely  so,"  he  said.  "  You  did  promise  ;  it  was  kind 
of  you  ;  and  for  myself,  you  may  rely  on  my  discretion.  Your 
calling  on  me — what  you  repeated  to  me — all  that  is  obliter- 
ated :  you  understand  ?  " 

Madame  Potecki  understood  that  very  well :  but  she  could 
not  quite  make  out  why  he  should  have  come  to  her  this  even- 
ing, apparently  with  no  object  beyond  that  of  reminding  her 
of  her  promise  to  say  nothing  of  her  visit  to  Lisle  Street. 

He  lifted  his  hat  from  an  adjacent  chair. 

"  Now  I  will  leave  you  to  finish  your  dinner  in  quiet.  You 
forgive  me  for  interrupting  you,  do  you  not  ?  And  you  will 
remember,  I  am  sure,  not  to  mention  to  any  one  about  your 
having  called  on  me  to-day  ?  As  for  me,  it  is  all  wiped  out : 
I  know  nothing.  Adieu,  and  thanks." 

He  shook  hands  with  her  in  a  very  friendly  manner,  and 
then  left,  saying  he  could  open  the  outer  door  for  himself. 

He  got  home  in  time  for  dinner :  he  and  Natalie  dined  to- 
gether, and  he  was  particularly  kind  to  her ;  he  talked  in 
Magyar,  which  was  his  custom  when  he  wished  to  be  friendly 
and  affectionate  ;  he  made  no  reference  to  George  Brand 
whatsoever. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  casually,  "  it  was  not  fair  that  you  were 
deprived  of  a  holiday  this  year.  You  know  the  reason — 
there  were  too  many  important  things  going  forward.  But  it  is 
not  yet  too  late.  You  must  think  about  it — think  where  you 
would  like  to  go  for  two  or  three  weeks." 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  on  that  morning  that  she  had 
placed  her  written  offer  in  her  lover's  hands ;  so  far  there  had 
been  no  reply  from  him. 

"  And  Madame  Potecki,"  her  father  continued ;  "  she  is 
not  very  rich ;  she  has  but  little  change.  Why  not  take  her 
with  you  instead  of  Anneli  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  take  her  away  for  a  time,"  said  the  girl, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  She  lives  a  monotonous  life  ;  but  she  has 
always  her  pupils." 

"  Some  arrangement  could  be  made  with  them,  surely," 
her  father  said,  lightly ;  and  then  he  added,  "  Paris  is  always 
the  safest  place  to  go  to  when  one  is  in  doubt.  There  you 
are  independent  of  the  weather ;  there  are  so  many  things  to 
see  and  to  do  if  it  rains.  Will  you  think  of  it,  Natalushka  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa,"  she  said,  though  she  felt  rather  guilty.  But 
she  was  so  grateful  to  have  her  father  talk  to  her  in  this 
friendly  way  again,  after  the  days  of  estrangement  that  had 


250  SUNRISE. 

passed,  that  she  could  not  but  pretend  to  fall  in  with  his 
schemes. 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Lind.  "  I 
intend  to  buy  you  some  furs,  Natalie,  for  the  winter.  These 
we  will  get  in  Paris." 

"  I  am  too  much  of  an  expense  to  you  already,  papa." 

"You  forget,"  said  he,  with  mock  gravity,  "that  you  give 
me  your  invaluable  services  as  house-keeper,  and  that  so  far 
you  have  received  no  salary." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  outer  door. 

"  Is  it  nine  o'clock  already  ?  "  he  said,  in  an  altered  tone. 

"  Whom  do  you  expect,  papa  ?  " 

"  Gathorne  Edwards." 

"  Then  I  will  send  you  in  coffee  to  the  study." 

But  presently  Anneli  came  into  the  room. 

"  Pardon,  Fraulein,  but  the  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you 
for  one  minute." 

"  Let  him  come  in  here,  then." 

Edwards  came  in,  and  shook  hands  with  Natalie  in  an 
embarrassed  manner.  Then  he  produced  a  little  packet. 

"  I  have  a  commission,  Miss  Lind.  It  is  from  Signor  Cala- 
bressa.  He  sends  you  this  necklace,  and  says  I  am  to  tell 
you  that  he  thinks  of  you  always." 

The  message  had  been  in  reality  that  Calabressa  "  thought 
of  her  and  loved  her  always."  But  Edwards  was  a  shy  person, 
and  did  not  like  to  pronounce  the  word  "  love  "  to  this  beau- 
tiful girl,  who  regarded  him  with  such  proud,  frank  eyes. 

"  He  has  not  returned  with  you,  then  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  But  you  can  send  him  a  message  ?  " 

"  I  will  when  I  hear  of  his  address." 

"  Then  you  will  tell  him — will  you  be  so  kind  ? — that  the 
little  Natalushka — that  is  myself,"  she  said,  smiling ;  "  you 
will  tell  him  that  the  little  Natalushka  thanks  him,  and  is  not 
likely  to  forget  him." 

The  interview  between  the  new  visitor  and  Mr.  Lind  was 
speedily  got  over.  Lind  excused  himself  for  giving  Edwards 
the  trouble  of  this  second  appointment  by  saying  he  had  been 
much  engrossed  with  serious  business  during  the  day.  There 
was,  indeed,  little  new  to  be  communicated  about  the  Kirski 
and  Calabressa  escapade,  though  Edwards  repeated  the  de- 
tails as  minutely  as  possible.  He  accepted  a  cigar,  and  left. 

Then  Lind  got  his  overcoat  and  hat  and  went  out  of  the 
house.  A  hansom  took  him  along  to  Lisle  Street :  he  arrived 
there  just  as  ten  was  striking. 


THE   VEL  VE  7'  GL  O  VE.  2  57 

There  were  two  men  at  the  door ;  they  were  Beratinsky 
and  Reitzei.  All  three  entered  and  went  up  the  narrow  stair 
in  the  dark,  for  the  old  German  had  gone.  There  was  some 
fumbling  for  matches  on  the  landing  ;  then  a  light  was  pro- 
cured, and  the  gas  lit  in  the  central  room.  Mr.  Lind  sat 
down  at  his  desk  ;  the  other  two  drew  in  chairs.  The  whole 
house  was  intently  silent. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  take  you  away  from  your  amusements,"  said 
he,  civilly  enough  ;  "  but  you  will  soon  be  able  to  return  to 
them.  The  matter  is  of  importance.  Edwards  has  returned." 

Both  men  nodded ;  Reitzei  had,  in  fact,  informed  his  com- 
panion. 

"  As  I  anticipated,  Calabressa's  absurd  proposal  has  been 
rejected,  if  not  even  scoffed  at.  Now,  this  affair  must  not  be 
played  with  any  longer.  The  Council  has  charged  us,  the 
English  section,  with  a  certain  duty ;  we  must  set  about  hav- 
ing it  performed  at  once." 

"  There  is  a  year's  grace."  Beratinsky  observed,  but  Lind 
interrupted  him  curtly. 

"  There  may  be  a  year's  grace  or  less  allowed  to  the  infa- 
mous priest ;  there  is  none  allowed  to  us.  We  must  have  our 
agent  ready.  Why,  man,  do  you  think  a  thing  like  that  can 
be  done  off-hand,  without  long  and  elaborate  planning  ?  " 

Beratinsky  was  silenced. 

"  Are  we  to  have  the  Council  think  that  we  are  playing  with 
them  ?  And  that  was  not  the  only  thing  in  connection  with 
the  Calabressa  scheme  which  you,  Reitzei,  were  the  first  to 
advocate.  Every  additional  person  whom  you  let  into  the  se- 
cret is  a  possible  weak  point  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  design  ; 
do  you  perceive  that  ?  And  you  had  to  let  this  man  Edwards 
into  it." 

"  But  he  is  safe." 

Lind  laughed. 

"  Safe  ?  Yes ;  because  he  knows  his  own  life  would  not 
be  worth  a  half-franc  piece  if  he  betrayed  a  Council  secret. 
However,  that  is  over  :  no  more  about  it.  We  must  show  the 
Council  that  we  can  act  and  promptly." 

There  was  silence  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  I  have  no  need  to  wait  for  the  further  instructions  of  the 
Council,"  Lind  resumed.  "  I  know  what  they  intend.  They 
intend  to  make  it  clear  to  all  Europe  that  this  is  not  a  Ca- 
morra  act  of  vengeance.  The  Starving  Cardinal  has  thou- 
sands of  enemies  ;  the  people  curse  and  groan  at  him  ;  if  he 
were  stabbed  by  an  Italian,  '  Oh,  another  of  those  Camorristi 
wretches  !  '  would  be  the  cry.  The  agent  must  ^ome  from 


258  SUNKISE. 

England,  and,  if  he  is  taken  red-handed,  then  let  him  say  if 
he  likes  that  he  is  connected  with  an  association  which 
knows  how  to  reach  evil-doers  who  are  beyond  the  ordinary 
reach  of  the  law ;  but  let  him  make  it  clear  that  it  is  no  Ca- 
morra  affair  :  you  understand  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  both  men. 

"  Now  you  know  what  the  Council  have  ordained,"  contin- 
ued Lind,  calmly,  "  that  no  agent  shall  be  appointed  to  under- 
take any  service  involving  immediate  peril  to  life  without  a 
ballot  among  at  least  four  persons.  It  was  absurd  of  Cala- 
bressa  to  imagine  that  they  would  abrogate  their  own  decree, 
merely  because  that  Russian  madman  was  ready  for  anything. 
Well,  it  is  not  expedient  that  this  secret  should  be  confided 
to  many.  It  is  known  to  four  persons  in  this  country.  We 
are  three  of  the  four." 

The  two  men  started. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  boldly,  and  he  regarded  each  of  them  in  turn. 
"  That  is  my  proposal :  that  we  ourselves  form  three  of  the 
ballot  of  four.  The  fourth  must  be  an  Englishman." 

"  Edwards  ?  "  said  Beratinsky.  Reitzei  was  thinking  too 
much  of  his  own  position  to  speak. 

"  No,"  said  Lind,  calmly  playing  with  his  pencil,  "  Edwards 
is  a  man  of  books,  not  of  action.  I  have  been  thinking  that  the 
fourth  ought  to  be — George  Brand." 

He  watched  them  both.  Reitzei  was  still  preoccupied ;  but 
the  small  black  eyes  of  Beratinsky  twinkled  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  Very  good  !  There  we  have  our  four. 
For  myself,  I  am  not  afraid ;  not  I !  " 

"And  you,  Reitzei;  are  you  satisfied?"  said  Lind  merely 
as  a  matter  of  form. 

The  younger  man  started. 

"  Oh  yes,  the  Council  must  be  obeyed,"  said  he,  absently. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Lind,  rising,  "  the  business  is  concluded. 
Now  you  may  return  to  your  Culturverein." 

But  when  the  others  had  risen,  he  said,  in  a  laughing  way, 
"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  will  add  :  you  may  think  about  it 
at  your  leisure.  The  chances  are  three  to  one,  and  we  all  run 
the  same  risk ;  but  I  confess  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  see  the  Eng- 
lishman chosen ;  for,  you  perceive,  that  would  make  the  matter 
clear  enough.  They  would  not  accuse  an  Englishman  of  com- 
plicity with  the  Camorra — would  they,  Reitzei  ?  If  the  lot  fell 
to  the  Englishman,  I  should  not  be  disappointed — would  you, 
Beratinsky  ?  " 

Beratinsky,  who  was  about  to  leave,  turned  sharply  and  the 
coal-black  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  Lind's  face. 


SANTA  CLAUS.  259 

"  I  ?  "  he  said.  "  Not  I !  We  will  talk  again  about  it,  Brother 
Lind." 

Reitzei  opened  the  door,  Lind  screwed  out  the  gas,  and  then 
the  three  men  descended  the  wooden  staircase,  their  footsteps 
sounding  through  the  silent  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

SANTA    GLAUS. 

To  save  time  Brand  jumped  into  a  hansom  and  drove  down 
to  Curzon  Street.  He  was  too  much  preoccupied  to  remem- 
ber that  Natalie  had  wished  him  not  to  come  to  the  house. 
Anneli  admitted  him,  and  showed  him  up-stairs  into  the 
drawing-room.  In  a  couple  of  seconds  or  so  Natalie  herself 
appeared. 

"  Well,"  said  she  lightly,  "  you  have  come  to  tell  me  about 
Santa  Glaus  ?  You  have  discovered  the  mysterious  mes- 
senger ? " 

She  shut  the  door  and  went  forward  to  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  said,  quickly  :  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  look  that  alarmed  her. 

He  caught  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  held  them  tight. 

"Nothing  to  frighten  you,  at  all  events,"  said  he:  "no, 
Natalie  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Only — only — you  must 
be  brave. 

It  was  he  who  was  afraid  ;  he  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 

"  That  locket  there,"  said  he,  regarding  the  little  silver 
trinket.  "  Have  you  ever  thought  about  it  ? — why  do  you 
wear  it  ? " 

"  Why  do  I  wear  it  ?  "  she  said,  simply.  "  Because  one  day 
that  Calabressa  was  talking  to  me  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
locket  might  have  belonged  to  my  mother,  and  that  some  one 
had  wished  to  give  it  to  me.  He  did  not  say  it  was  impossi- 
ble. It  was  his  talk  of  Natalie  and  Natalushka  that  put  it  in 
my  head  ;  perhaps  it  was  a  stupid  fancy." 

"  Natalie,  the  locket  did  belong  to  your  mother." 

"  Ah,  you  know,  then  ? "  she  said,  quickly,  but  with  noth- 
ing beyond  a  bright  and  eager  interest,  "  You  have  seen  that 
lady  ?  Well,  what  does  she  say  ? — was  she  angry  that  you  fol- 
lowed her  ?  Did  you  thank  her  for  me  for  all  those  presents 
of  flowers  ? " 

"Natalie,"  said    he  almost  in  despair,  "have   you  never 


2<5o  SUNXJSE. 

thought  about  it — about  the  locket  ?     Have  you  never  thought 
of  what  might  be  possible  ? " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said,  with  a  bewildered  air. 
"  What  is  it  ?  why  do  you  not  speak  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  afraid.  See,  I  hold  your  hands  tight  be- 
cause I  am  afraid.  And  yet  it  is  good  news  :  your  heart  will 
be  filled  with  joy ;  your  life  will  be  quite  different  from  to- 
day ever  after.  Natalie,  cannot  you  imagine  for  yourself — 
something  beautiful  happening  to  you — something  you  may 
have  dreamed  of — " 

She  became  a  little  pale,  but  she  maintained  her  calmness. 

"  Dearest,"  said  she,  "  why  are  you  afraid  to  tell  me. 
You  hold  my  hands  :  do  they  tremble  ?" 

"  But,  Natalie,  think  ! "  he  said.  "  Think  of  the  locket  ; 
it  was  given  you  by  one  who  loved  you — who  has  loved  you 
all  these  years — and  been  kept  away  from  you — and  now 
she  is  waiting  for  you." 

He  studied  her  face  intently  :  there  was  nothing  there  but 
a  vague  bewilderment.  He  grew  more  and  more  to  fear  the 
effect  of  the  shock. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Can  you  not  think,  now,  if  it  were  possible 
that  one  whom  you  have  always  thought  to  be  dead — whom 
you  have  loved  all  through  your  life — if  it  were  she  herself — " 

She  withdrew  her  hands  from  his,  and  caught  the  back  of 
a  chair.  She  was  ghastly  pale  ;  for  a  second  she  did  not 
speak. 

"  You  will  kill  me — if  it  is  not  true,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  still  staring  at  him  with  frightened,  bewildered 
eyes. 

"  Natalie,  it  is  true,"  said  he,  stepping  forward  to  catch 
her  by  the  arm,  for  he  thought  she  was  going  to  fall. 

She  sunk  into  a  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands — not  to  cry,  but  to  think.  She  had  to  reverse  the  be- 
lief of  a  lifetime  in  a  second. 

But  suddenly  she  started  up,  her  face  still  white,  her  lips 
firm. 

"  Take  me  to  her ;  I  must  see  her ;  I  will  go  at  once." 

"  You  shall  not,"  he  said,  promptly ;  but  he  himself  was 
beginning  to  breathe  more  freely.  "  I  will  not  allow  you  to 
see  her  until  you  are  perfectly  calm." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm  gently. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  '*  you  must  calm  yourself — for  her 
sake.  She  has  been  suffering  ;  she  is  weak  ;  any  wild  scene 
would  do  her  harm.  You  must  calm  yourself,  my  darling  ; 


SANTA  CLAUS.  261 

you  must  be  the  braver  of  the  two  ;  you  must  show  yourself 
very  strong — for  her  sake." 

"I  am  quite  calm,"  she  said,  with  pale  lips.  She  put 
Aer  left  hand  over  her  heart.  "  It  is  only  my  heart  that 
beats  so." 

"  Well,  in  a  little  while—" 

"  Now — now  ! "  she  pleaded,  almost  wildly.  "  I  must 
see  her.  When  I  try  to  think  of  it,  it  is  like  to  drive  me 
mad  ;  I  cannot  think  at  all.  Let  us  go  !  " 

"  You  must  think,"  he  said  firmly ;  "  you  must  think  of 
what  you  are  going  to  say ;  and  your  dress,  too.  Natalie, 
you  must  take  that  piece  of  scarlet  ribbon  away ;  one  who  is 
nearly  related  to  you  has  just  died." 

She  tore  it  off  instantly. 

"  And  you  know  Magyar,  don't  you,  Natalie  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  yes." 

"  Because  your  mother  has  been  learning  English  in  order 
to  be  able  to  speak  to  you." 

Again  she  placed  her  hand  over  her  heart,  and  there  was 
a  look  of  pain  on  her  face. 

"  My  dearest,  let  us  go  !  I  can  bear  no  more :  my  heart 
will  break  !  See,  am  I  not  calm  enough  ?  Do  I  tremble  ?  " 

"  No,  you  are  very  courageous,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
doubtfully. 

"  Let  us  go  ! — let  us  go  ! " 

Her  entreaties  overcame  his  scruples.  The  things  she 
had  thrown  aside  on  coming  in  from  her  morning  walk  still 
lay  there  ;  she  hastily  put  them  on  ;  and  she  herself  led  the 
way  downstairs.  He  put  her  into  the  hansom,  and  followed  ; 
the  man  drove  off.  She  held  her  lover's  hand  tight,  as  a 
sign  of  her  gratitude. 

"  Mind,  I  depend  on  you,  Natalie,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  do  not  fear,"  she  said,  rather  wildly ;  "  why  should 
one  fear  ?  It  seems  to  me  all  a  strange  sort  of  dream  ;  and 
I  shall  waken  out  of  it  by-and-by,  and  go  back  to  the  house. 
Why  should  I  be  surprised  to  see  her,  when  she  is  my  con- 
stant companion  ?  And  do  you  think  I  shall  not  know  what 
to  say  ? — I  have  talked  to  her  all  my  life." 

But  when  they  had  reached  the  house,  and  were  admitted, 
this  half-hysterical  courage  had  fled. 

"  One  moment,  dearest ;  give  me  one  moment,"  she  said, 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  as  if  her  breath  failed  her,  and  she 
put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Now,  Natalie,"  he  whispered,  "  you  must  think  of  your 


262  SUNRISE. 

mother  as  an  invalid — not  to  be  excited,  you  understand  ; 
there  is  to  be  no  scene." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  but  she  scarcely  heard  him. 

"  Now  go,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  wait  here." 

"  No,  I  wish  you  to  come,"  she  said. 

"  You  ought  to  be  alone  with  her." 

"  I  wish  you  to  come,"  she  repeated ;  and  she  took  his 
hand. 

They  went  up-stairs ;  the  door  was  wide  open ;  a  figure 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Natalie  entered  first ;  she 
was  very  white,  that  was  all.  It  was  the  other  woman  who 
was  trembling — trembling  with  anxious  fears,  and  forgetful 
of  every  one  of  the  English  phrases  she  had  learned. 

The  girl  at  the  door  hesitated  but  for  a  moment.  Breathless, 
wondering,  she  beheld  this  vision — worn  as  the  face  was, 
she  recognized  in  it  the  features  she  had  learned  to  love  ; 
and  there  were  the  dark  and  tender  eyes  she  had  so  often 
held  commune  with  when  she  was  alone.  It  was  only  be- 
cause she  was  so  startled  that  she  thus  hesitated  ;  the  next 
instant  she  was  in  her  mother's  arms  held  tight  there,  her 
head  against  her  bosom. 

Then  the  mother  began,  in  her  despair, 

"  My — my  daughter — you — do — know  me  ? " 

But  the  girl,  not  looking  up,  murmured  some  few  words  in 
a  language  Brand  did  not  understand ;  and  at  the  sound  of 
them  the  mother  uttered  a  wild  cry  of  joy,  and  drew  her 
daughter  closer  to  her,  and  laid  her  streaming,  worn,  sad 
face  on  the  beautiful  hair.  They  spoke  together  in  that 
tongue  ;  the  sounds  were  soft  and  tender  to  the  ear ;  perhaps 
it  was  the  yearning  of  love  that  made  them  so. 

Then  Natalie  remembered  her  promise.  She  gently  re- 
leased herself ;  she  led  her  mother  to  a  sofa,  and  made  her 
sit  down  ;  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her,  and 
kissed  her  hand ;  then  she  buried  her  head  in  her  mother's 
lap.  She  sobbed  once  or  twice ;  she  was  determined  not  to 
give  way  to  tears.  And  the  mother  stroked  the  soft  hair  of 
the  girl,  which  she  could  "hardly  see,  for  her  eyes  were  full ; 
and  from  time  to  time  she  spoke  to  her  in  those  gentle, 
trembling  tones,  bending  over  her  and  speaking  close  to  her 
ear.  The  girl  was  silent ;  perhaps  afraid  to  awake  from  a 
dream. 

"  Natalie,"  said  GeorgeBrand. 

She  sprung  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  she  said, 
hurriedly.  "  I  had  forgotten — " 


SANTA  CLAU3,  263 

"  No,  you  have  not  forgotten,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  have  remembered  ;  you  have  behaved  well.  Now  that 
I  have  seen  you  through  it,  I  am  going;  you  ought  to  be  by 
yourselves." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  she  said,  in  a  bewildered  way.  "  Without  you 
I  am  useless  :  I  cannot  think.  I  should  go  on  talking  and 
talking  to  my  mother  all  day,  all  night — because — because  my 
heart  is  full.  But — but  one  must  do  something.  Why  is  she 
here  ?  She  will  come  home  with  me — now  !  " 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  you  must  not  even  mention 
such  a  thing  to  her  :  it  would  pain  her.  Can  you  not  see 
that  there  are  sufficient  reasons  why  she  should  not  go,  when 
she  has  not  been  under  your  father's  roof  for  sixteen  years  ?  " 

"  And  why  has  my  father  never  told  me  ? "  the  girl  said, 
breathlessly. 

"  I  cannot  say." 

She  thought  for  a  moment ;  but  she  was  too  excited  to 
follow  out  any  train  of  thinking. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  what  matter  ?  I  have  found  a  great 
treasure.  And  you,  you  shall  not  go  :  it  will  be  we  three 
together  now.  Come  !  " 

She  took  his  hand  ;  she  turned  to  her  mother ;  her  face 
flushed  with  shyness.  She  said  something,  her  eyes  turned 
to  the  ground,  in  that  soft  musical  language  he  did  not 
understand. 

"  I  know,  my  child,"  the  mother  answered  in  French,  and 
she  laughed  lightly  despite  her  wet  eyes.  "  Do  you  think  one 
cannot  see  ? — and  I  have  been  following  you  like  a  spy  ! " 

"  Ah,  then,"  said  the  girl,  in  the  same  tongue,  "  do  you 
see  what  lies  they  tell  ?  They  say  when  the  mother  comes 
near  her  child,  the  heart  of  the  child  knows  and  recognizes 
her.  It  is  not  true  !  it  is  not  true  ! — or  perhaps  one  has  a 
colder  heart  than  the  others.  You  have  been  near  to  me, 
mother ;  I  have  watched,  as  you  went  away  crying,  and  all  I  said 
was,  '  Ah,  the  poor  lady,  I  am  sorry  for  her  ! '  I  had  no  more 
pity  for  you  than  Anneli  had.  Anneli  used  to  say,  '  Perhaps, 
fraulein,  she  has  lost  some  one  who  resembles  you.' " 

"  I  had  lost  you — I  had  lost  you,"  the  mother  said,  draw- 
ing the  girl  toward  her  again.  "  But  now  i  have  found  you 
again,  Natalushka.  I  thank  God  for  his  goodness  to  me.  I 
said  to  myself,  '  If  my  child  turns  away  from  me,  I  will  die  ! ' 
and  I  thought  that  if  you  had  any  portrait  of  me,  it  would  be 
taken  when  I  was  young,  and  you  would  not  care  for  an  old 
woman  grown  haggard  and  plain — " 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  it  is  for  smooth  portraits  that  I  care  ?  " 


264 

the  girl  said,  impetuously.  She  drew  out  from  some  concealed 
pocket  a  small  case,  and  opened  it.  "  Do  you  think  it  is  for 
smooth  faces  one  cares  ?  There — I  will  never  look  at  it 
again ! " 

She  threw  it  on  to  the  table  with  a  proud  gesture. 

"  But  you  had  it  next  your  heart,  Natalushka,"  said  her 
mother,  smiling. 

"  But  I  have  you  in  my  heart,  mother  :  what  do  I  want  with 
a  portrait  ?  "  said  the  girl. 

She  drew  her  daughter  down  to  her  again,  and  put  her  arm 
once  more  round  her  neck. 

"I  once  had  hair  like  yours,  Natalushka,  but  not  so  beauti- 
ful as  yours,  I  think.  And  you  wore  the  locket,  too  ?  Did 
not  that  make  you  guess  ?  Had  you  no  suspicion  ?  " 

"  How  could  I — how  could  -I  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Even  when 
I  showed  it  to  Calabressa — " 

Here  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"  Did  he  know,  mother  ?  " 

"Oh  yes." 

"  Then  why  did  he  not  tell  me  ?  Oh,  it  was  cruel !  "  she 
said,  indignantly. 

"  He  told  me,  Natalie,"  George  Brand  said. 

"  You  knew  ? "  the  girl  said,  turning  to  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"  Yes ;  and  Calabressa,  when  he  told  me,  implored  me  never 
to  tell  you.  Well,  perhaps  he  thought  it  would  give  you  need- 
less pain.  But  I  was  thinking,  within  the  last  few  days,  that 
I  ought  to  tell  you  before  I  left  for  America." 

"  Do  you  hear,  mother  ?  "  the  girl  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  He  is  going  away  to  America — and  alone.  I  wished  to  go ; 
he  refuses." 

"  Now  I  am  going  away  much  more  contented,  Natalie, 
since  you  will  have  a  constant  companion  with  you.  I  pre- 
sume, madame,  you  will  remain  in  England?" 

The  elder  woman  looked  up  with  rather  a  frightened  air. 

"  Alas,  monsieur,  I  do  not  know !  When  at  last  I  found 
myself  free — when  I  knew  I  could  come  and  speak  to  my 
child— that  was  all  I  thought  of." 

"  But  you  wish  to  remain  in  England  :  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  What  have  I  in  the  world  now  but  this  beautiful  child — 
whose  heart  is  not  cold,  though  her  mother  comes  so  late  to 
claim  her  ?  " 

"  Then  be  satisfied,  madame.  It  is  simple.  No  one  can 
interfere  with  you.  But  I  will  provide  you,  if  you  will  allow 
me,  with  better  lodgings  than  these.  I  have  a  few  days'  idle- 
ness still  before  me." 


SANTA  CLAUS.  265 

"That  is  his  way,  mother,"  Natalie  said,  in  a  st\ll  lower 
voice.  "  It  is  always  about  others  he  is  thinking — how  to  do 
one  a  kindness." 

"  I  presume,"  he  said,  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way,  "  that 
you  do  not  wish  your  being  in  London  to  become  known  ?  " 

She  looked  up  timidly,  but  in  truth  she  could  hardly  take 
her  attention  away  from  this  newly-found  daughter  of  hers  for 
a  single  second.  She  still  continued  stroking  the  soft  hair 
and  rounded  cheek  as  she  said, 

"  If  that  is  possible." 

"  It  would  not  be  long  possible  in  an  open  thoroughfare 
like  this,"  he  said ;  "  But  I  think  I  could  find  you  a  small  old- 
fashioned  house  down  about  Brompton,  with  a  garden  and  a 
high  wall.  I  have  passed  such  places  occasionally.  There 
Natalie  could  come  to  see  you,"and  walk  with  you.  There  is 
another  thing,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  taking  out  his 
watch.  "  It  is  now  nearly  two  o'clock.  Now,  dear  madame, 
Natalie  is  in  the  habit  of  having  luncheon  at  one.  You  would 
not  like  to  see  your  child  starve  before  your  eyes  ? " 

The  elder  woman  rose  instantly ;  then  she  colored  some- 
what. 

"  No  doubt  you  did  not  expect  visitors,"  George  Brand  said, 
quickly.  "  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  this  ?  Let  us  get  into  a 
four-wheeled  cab,  and  drive  down  to  my  chambers.  I  have 
an  indefatigable  fellow,  who  could  get  something  for  us  in  the 
desert  of  Saharra." 

"  What  do  you  say,  child  ? " 

Natalie  had  risen  too  :  she  was  regarding  her  mother  with 
earnest  eyes,  and  not  thinking  much  about  luncheon. 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish,"  she  was  saying  :  but  sud- 
denly she  cried,  "  Oh,  I  am  indeed  so  happy  ! "  and  flung  her 
arms  round  her  mother's  neck,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears 
for  the  first  time.  She  had  struggled  long;  but  she  had 
broken  down  at  last. 

"  Natalie,"  •  said  George-  Brand,  pretending  to  be  very  anx- 
ious about  the  time,  "  could  you  get  your  mother's  things  for 
her  ?  I  think  we  shall  be  down  there  by  a  quarter  past  two." 

She  turned  to  him  with  her  streaming  eyes. 

"Yes,  we  will  go  with  you,     Do  not  let  us  be  separated." 

"  Then  look  sharp,"  said  he,  severely. 

Natalie  took  her  mother  into  the  adjoining  room.  Brand, 
standing  at  the  window,  succeeded  in  catching  the  eye  of  a 
cab-man,  whom  he  signaled  to  come  to  the  door  below.  Pres- 
ently the  two  women  appeared. 


266  SUNRISE. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Natalie,  there  is  to  be  no  more  cry- 
ing." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  she  said,  smiling  quite  radiantly.  "  And  I  am 
so  anxious  to  see  the  rooms — I  have  heard  so  much  of  them 
from  Lord  Evelyn." 

She  said  nothing  further  then,  for  she  was  passing  before 
him  on  her  way  out.  In  doing  so,  she  managed,  unseen,  to 
pick  up  the  miniature  she  had  thrown  on  the  table.  She  had 
made  believe  to  despise  that  portrait  very  much  ;  but  all  the 
same,  as  they  went  down  the  dark  staircase,  she  conveyed  it 
back  to  the  secret  little  pocket  she  had  made  for  it — next  her 
heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A    SUMMONS. 

"  MOTHER,"  said  the  girl,  in  the  soft-sounding  Magyar,  as 
these  two  were  together  going  down-stairs,  "  give  me  your 
hand  ;  let  me  hold  it  tight,  to  make  sure.  All  the  way  here  I 
kept  terrifying  myself  by  thinking  it  must  be  a  dream  ;  that  I 
should  wake,  and  find  the  world  empty  without  you,  just  as 
before.  But  now — now  with  your  hand  in  mine,  I  am  sure." 

"  Natalushka,  you  can  hear  me  speak  also.  Ghosts  do  not 
speak  like  this,  do  they?  " 

Brand  had  preceded  them  to  open  the  door.  As  Natalie 
was  passing  him  she  paused  for  a  second,  and  regarded  him 
with  the  beautiful,  tender,  dark  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  what  I  owe  to  you,"  she  said  in 
English. 

He  followed  them  into  the  cab. 

"  What  you  owe  to  me  ?  "  he  said,  lightly.  "  You  owe  me 
nothing  at  all.  But  if  you  wish  t&  do  me  a  good  turn,  you 
may  pretend  to  be  pleased  with  whatever  old  Waters  can  get 
together  for  you.  The  poor  old  fellow  will  be  in  a  dreadful 
state.  To  entertain  two  ladies,  and  not  a  moment  of  warning  ! 
However,  we  will  show  you  the  river,  and  the  boats  and  things, 
and  give  him  a  few  minutes'  grace." 

Indeed,  it  was  entirely  as  a  sort  of  harmless  frolic  that  he 
chose  to  regard  this  present  excursion  of  theirs.  He  was 
afraid  of  the  effect  of  excessive  emotion  on  this  worn  woman, 
and  he  was  anxious  that  she  should  see  her  daughter  cheerful 
and  happy.  He  would  not  have  them  think  of  any  future  ; 


A  SUMMONS.  267 

above  all,  he  would  have  nothing  said  about  himself  or  Amer- 
ica ;  it  was  all  an  affair  of  the  moment — the  joyous  re-union  of 
mother  and  daughter — a  pleasant  morning  with  London  all 
busy  and  astir — the  only  serious  thing  in  the  whole  world  the 
possible  anxieties  and  struggles  of  the  venerable  major-domo 
in  Buckingham  Street. 

He  had  not  much  difficulty  in  entertaining  these  two  guests 
of  his  on  their  way  down.  They  professed  to  be  greatly  in- 
terested in  the  history  and  antiquities  of  the  old-fashioned 
little  thoroughfare  over  the  river ;  arrived  there,  they  regarded 
with  much  apparent  curiosity  the  houses  pointed  out  to  them 
as  having  been  the  abode  of  illustrious  personages  :  they  ex- 
amined the  old  Watergate;  and,  in  ascending  the  oak  stair- 
case, they  heard  of  painted  ceilings  and  what  not  with  a  deep 
and  respectful  attention.  But  always  these  two  had  each 
other's  hand  clasped  tight,  and  occasionally  Natalie  murmured 
a  little  snatch  of  Magyar.  It  was  only  to  make  sure,  she  ex- 
plained. 

Before  they  reached  the  topmost  story  they  heard  a  consid- 
erable noise  overhead.  It  was  a  one-sided  altercation ;  broken 
and  piteous  on  the  one  hand,  voluble  and  angry  on  the 
other. 

"  It  sounds  as  if  Waters  were  having  a  row  with  the  man 
in  possession,"  Brand  said. 

They  drew  nearer. 

"  Why,  Natalie,  it  is  your  friend  Kirski !  " 

Brand  was  following  his  two  guests  up-stairs ;  and  so  could 
not  interfere  between  the  two  combatants  before  they  arrived. 
But  the  moment  that  Natalie  appeared  on  the  landing  there 
was  a  dead  silence.  Kirski  shrunk  back  with  a  slight  excla- 
mation, and  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  fright- 
ened air.  She  advanced  to  him  and  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter,  in  his  native  tongue.  He  shrunk  farther  back.  The 
man  could  not  or  would  not  speak.  He  murmured  something 
to  himself,  and  stared  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  spectre. 

"  He  has  got  a  letter  for  you,  sir,"  Waters  said ;  "  I  have 
seen  the  address ;  and  he  will  neither  leave  it  nor  take  it. 
And  as  for  what  he  has  been  trying  to  say,  Lord  A'mighty 
knows  what  it  is — I  don't." 

"Very  well — all  right,"  Brand  said.  "You  leave  him  to 
us.  Cut  away  and  get  some  luncheon — whatever  you  can 
find — at  once." 

But  Natalie  had  gone  nearer  to  the  Russian,  and  was  talk- 
ing to  him  in  that  fearless,  gentle  way  of  hers.  By-and-by 
he  spoke,  in  an  uncertain,  almost  gasping  voice.  Then  he 


268  SUNRISE. 

showed  her  a  letter ;  and,  in  obedience  to  something  she  said, 
went  timidly  forward  and  placed  it  in  Brand's  hand. 

"  A  Monsieur, 

M.  George  Brand,  Esq., 

Londres" 

This  was  the  superscription ;  and  Brand  recognized  the  hand- 
writing easily  enough. 

"The  letter  is  from  Calabressa,"  he  said  obviously.  "Tell 
him  not  to  be  alarmed.  We  shall  not  eat  him,  however  hun- 
gry we  may  be." 

Kirski  had  recovered  himself  somewhat,  and  was  speaking 
eagerly  to  her,  in  a  timid,  anxious,  imploring  fashion.  She 
listened  in  silence ;  but  she  was  clearly  somewhat  embar- 
rassed, and  when  she  turned  to  her  lover  there  was  some 
flush  of  color  on  her  face. 

"  He  talks  some  wild  things,"  she  said,  "and  some  foolish 
things ;  but  he  means  no  harm.  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor 
man.  He  is  afraid  you  are  angry  with  him;  he  says  he 
promised  never  to  try  to  see  me ;  that  he  would  not  have 
come  if  he  had  known.  I  have  told  him  you  are  not  angry; 
that  it  is  not  his  fault ;  that  you  will  show  that  you  are  not 
angry." 

But  first  of  all  Brand  ushered  his  guests  into  the  long,  low- 
roofed  chamber,  and  drew  the  portieres  across  the  middle,  so 
that  Waters  might  have  an  apartment  for  his  luncheon  prep- 
arations. Then  he  opened  the  letter.  Kirski  remained  at 
the  door,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand. 

"  MY  MUCH-ESTEEMED  FRIEND," — Calabressa  wrote,  in  his 
ornate,  ungrammatical,  and  phonetic  French — "the  poor 
devil  who  is  the  bearer  of  this  letter  is  known  to  you,  and 
yet  not  altogether  known  to  you.  You  know  something  of 
his  conversion  from  a  wild  beast  into  a  man — from  the  tiger 
into  a  devotee  ;  but  you  do  not,  my  friend,  perhaps  entirely 
know  how  his  life  has  become  absorbed  in  one  worship,  one 
aspiration,  one  desire.  The  means  of  the  conversion,  the 
instrument,  you  know,  have  I  not  myself  before  described  it 
to  you  ?  The  harassed  and  bleeding  heart,  crushed  with 
scorn  and  filled  with  despair — how  can  a  man  live  with  that 
in  his  bosom  ?  He  wishes  to  die.  The  world  has  been  too 
cruel  to  him.  But  all  at  once  an  angel  appears  ;  into  the  ruins  of 
the  wasted  life  a  seed  of  kindness  is  dropped,  and  then  be- 
hold the  beautiful  flower  of  love  springing  up — love  that  be- 


A  SUMMONS.  269 

comes  a  worship,  a  religion  !  Yes,  I  have  said  so  much  be- 
fore to  you  ;  now  I  say  more ;  now  I  entreat  you  not  to  check 
this  beautiful  worship — it  is  sacred.  This  man  goes  round 
the  churches ;  he  stands  before  the  pictures  of  the  saints ;  he 
wanders  on  unsatisfied :  he  says  there  is  no  saint  like  the 
beautiful  one  in  England,  who  healed  him  with  her  soft  words 
when  he  was  sick  to  death.  But  now,  my  clear  Monsieur 
Brand,  I  hear  you  say  to  yourself,  'What  is  my  friend 
Calabressa  after  now?  Has  he  taken  to  the  writings  of 
pious  sermons  ?  Is  he  about  to  shave  his  head  and  put  a 
rope  round  his  waist  ?  My  faith,  that  is  not  like  that  fellow 
Calabressa ! '  You  are  right,  my  friend.  I  describe  the 
creation  of  the  devotee  ;  it  is  a  piece  of  poetry,  as  one  might 
say.  But  your  devotee  must  have  his  amulet ;  is  it  not  so  ? 
This  is  the  meaning  and  prayer  of  my  letter  to  you.  The 
bearer  of  it  was  willing  to  do  us  a  great  service  ;  perhaps — if 
one  must  confess  it — he  believed  it  was  on  behalf  of  the 
beautiful  Natalushka  and  her  father  that  he  was  to  undertake 
the  duty  that  now  devolves  on  some  other.  One  must  prac- 
tice a  little  finesse  sometimes ;  what  harm  is  there  ?  Very 
well.  Do  you  know  what  he  seeks  by  way  of  reward — what 
he  considers  the  most  valuable  thing  in  the  world  ?  It  is  a 
portrait  of  his  saint,  you  understand  ?  That  is  the  amulet 
the  devotee  would  have.  And  I  do  not  further  wish  to  write 
to  her;  no,  because  she  would  say,  'What,  that  is  a  little 
matter  to  do  for  my  friend  Calabressa.'  No  ;  I  write  to  you 
— I  write  to  one  who  has  knowledge  of  affairs — and  I  say  to 
myself,  '  If  he  considers  it  prudent,  then  he  will  ask  the  beau: 
tiful  child  to  give  her  portrait  to  this  one  who  will  worship 
it.'  I  have  declared  to  him  that  I  will  make  the  request ;  I 
make  it.  Do  not  consider  it  a  trifling  matter ;  it  is  not  to 
him  ;  it  is  the  crown  of  his  existence.  And  if  he  says,  '  Do 
you  see,  this  is  what  I  am  ready  to  do  for  her — I  will  give 
my  life  if  she  or  her  friends  wish  it ; '  then  I  say — I,  Cala- 
bressa— that  a  portrait  at  one  shilling,  two  shillings,  ten  shil- 
lings, is. not  so  very  much  in  return.  Now,  my  dear  friend, 
you  will  consider  the  prudence  of  granting  his  request  and 
mine.  I  believe  in  his  faithfulness.  If  you  say  to  him,  '  The 
beautiful  lady  who  was  kind  to  you  wishes  you  to  do  this  or 
do  that ;  or  wishes  you  never  to  part  with  this  portrait ;  or 
wishes  you  to  keep  silence  on  this  or  on  that,'  you  may  de- 
pend on  him.  I  say  so.  Adieu  !  Say  to  the  little  one  that 
there  is  some  one  who  does  not  forget  her.  Perhaps  you  will 
never  hear  from  Calabressa  a^ain :  remember  him  not  as  a 


270  S 

madcap,  but  as  one  who  wishes  you  well.     To-morrow  I  start 
for  Cyprus — then  farther — with  a  light  heart.     Adieu  ! 

"  CALABRESSA." 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Natalie's  mother.  The  elder  wo- 
man read  the  letter  carefully.  She  laughed  quietly ;  but 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  like  my  old  friend  Calabressa,"  she  said.  "  Nata- 
lushka,  they  want  you  to  give  your  portrait  to  this  poor  crea- 
ture who  adores  you.  Why  not?  Calabressa  says  he  will 
do  whatever  you  tell  him.  Tell  him,  then,  not  to  part  with 
it ;  not  to  show  it  to  any  one,  and  not  to  say  to  any  one  he 
has  seen  either  you  or  me  here.  Is  not  that  simple  ?  Tell 
him  to  come  here  to-morrow  or  next  day ;  you  can  send  the 
photograph  to  Mr.  Brand." 

The  girl  went  to  the  door,  and  said  a  few  words  to  Kirski. 
He  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  sunk  on  his  knees,  as  he  had 
done  in  Curzon  Street,  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it ; 
then  he  rose,  and  bowed  respectfully  to  the  others,  and  left. 

Presently  Waters  came  in  and  announced  that  luncheon 
was  on  the  table  ;  the  portieres  were  drawn  aside  ;  they  passed 
into  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment,  and  sat  down.  The 
banquet  was  not  a  sumptuous  one,  and  there  were  no  flowers 
on  the  table ;  but  it  was  everything  that  any  human  being 
could  have  done  in  fifteen  minutes ;  and  these  were  bachel- 
ors' rooms.  Natalie  took  care  to  make  a  pretty  speech  in 
the  hearing  of  Mr.  Waters. 

"  Yes,  but  you  eat  nothing,"  the  host  said.  "  Do  you  think 
your  mother  will  have  anything  if  she  sees  you  indifferent  ? " 

Presently  the  mother,  who  seemed  to  be  much  amused  with 
something  or  other,  said  in  French, 

"  Ah,  my  friend,  I  did  not  think  my  child  would  be  so  de- 
ceitful. I  did  not  think  she  would  deceive  you/'' 

The  girl  stared  with  wide  eyes. 

"  She  pretended  to  tell  you  what  this  poor  man  said  to 
her,"  said  the  mother,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  She  forgot  that 
some  one  else  than  herself  might  know  Russian." 

Natalie  flushed  red. 

"  Mother !  "  she  remonstrated.  "  I  said  he  had  spoken  a 
lot  of  foolish  things." 

"  After  all,"  said  the  mother,  "  he  said  no  more  than  what 
Calabressa  says  in  the  letter.  You  have  been  kind  to  him  ; 
he  regards  you  as  an  angel ;  he  will  give  you  his  life  ;  you,  or 
any  one  whom  you  love.  The  poor  man  !  Did  you  see  how 
he  trembled  ?  " 


A  SUMMONS.  271 

Natalie  turned  to  George  Brand. 

"  He  said  something  more  than  that,"  said  she.  "  He 
said  he  had  undertaken  some  duty,  some  service,  that  was 
expected  to  have  cost  him  his  life.  He  did  not  know  what  it 
was  :  do  you  ?  " 

"I  do  not,"  said  he,  answering  frankly  the  honest  look  of 
her  eyes.  "  I  can  scarcely  believe  any  one  was  foolish 
enough  to  think  of  intrusting  any  serious  duty  to  a  man  like 
that.  But  still  Calabressa  hints  as  much ;  and  I  know  he 
left  England  with  Calabressa." 

"  Natalushka,"  the  mother  said,  cautiously,  and  yet  with  an 
anxious  scrutiny,  "I  have  often  wondered — whether  you 
knew  much — much  about  the  Society." 

"Oh  no,  mother!  lam  allowed  to  translate,  and  some- 
times I  hear  that  help  is  to  be  given  here  or  there ;  but  I  am 
in  no  secrets  at  all.  That  is  my  misfortune." 

The  mother  seemed  much  relieved. 

"  It  is  not  a  misfortune,  child.  You  are  happier  as  you 
are,  I  think.  Then,"  she  added,  with  a  quick  glance,  "  you 
have  never  heard  of  one — Bartolotti  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  ;  but  directly  afterwards  she  exclaim- 
ed, "  Oh  yes,  yes  !  Bartolotti,  that  is  the  name  Calabressa 
gave  me.  He  said  if  ever  I  was  in  very  serious  trouble,  I 
was  to  go  to  Naples  ;  and  that  was  the  password.  But  I 
thought  to  myself,  '  If  I  am  in  trouble,  why  should  I  not  go 
to  my  own  father  ? ' ' 

The  mother  rose  and  went  to  the  girl,  and  put  her  arm  round 
her  daughter's  neck,  and  stooped  down. 

"  Natalushka,"  said  she,  earnestly,  "  you  are  wiser  than  Cal- 
abressa. If  you  are  in  trouble,  do  not  seek  any  help  that  way. 
Go  to  your  father." 

"  And  to  you,  mother,"  said  she,  drawing  down  the  worn, 
beautiful  face  and  kissing  it.  "  Why  not  to  you  also  ?  Why 
not  to  you  both  ?  " 

The  mother  smiled,  and  patted  the  girl's  head,  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  other  side  of  the  table.  Waters  brought  in  some 
fruit,  fresh  from  Covent  Garden. 

He  also  brought  in  a  letter,  which  he  put  beside  his  master's 
plate.  Brand  did  not  even  look  at  it;  he  pushed  it  aside,  to 
give  him  more  room.  But  in  pushing  it  aside  he  turned  it  some- 
what and  Natalie's  eye  happening  to  fall  on  the  address,  she 
perceived  at  once  that  it  was  in  the  handwriting  of  her  father. 

"  Dearest,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  and  rather  breathlessly, 
"  the  letter  is  from  papa." 

"  From  your  father  ?"  said  he,  without  any  great  concern. 


272 

Then  he  turned  to  Natalie's  mother.  "  Will  you  excuse  me  ? 
My  friends  are  determined  to  remind  me  of  their  existence  to- 
day." 

But  this  letter  was  much  shorter  than  Calabressa's,  though 
it  was  friendly  enough. 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  BRAND,"  it  ran, — "  I  am  glad  to  hear  that 
you  acted  with  so  much  promptitude  that  your  preparations 
for  departure  are  nearly  complete.  You  are  soldier-like.  I 
have  less  scruples,  therefore,  in  asking  you  to  be  so  kind  as  to 
give  me  up  to-morrow  evening  from  half-past  nine  onward,  for 
the  consideration  of  a  very  serious  order  that  has  been  trans- 
mitted to  us  from  the  Council.  You  will  perceive  that  this 
claims  precedence  over  any  of  our  local  arrangements ;  and  as 
it  may  even  involve  the  abandonment  of  your  voyage  to  Amer- 
ica, it  will  be  advisable  to  give  it  immediate  consideration.  I 
trust  the  hour  of  half-past  nine  will  not  interfere  with  any  en- 
gagement. 

"  Your  colleague  and  friend,         FERDINAND  LIND." 

This  was  all  that  an  ordinary  reader  would  have  seen  in  the 
letter;  but  Brand  observed  also,  down  at  the  left-hand  corner,  a 
small  mark  in  green  color.  That  tiny  arrow,  with  the  two  dots 
— the  whole  almost  invisible — changed  the  letter  from  an  in- 
vitation into  a  command.  It  signified  "  On  business  of  the 
Council." 

He  laid  down  the  letter,  and  said  lightly  to  Natalie, 

"  Now  I  have  some  news  for  you.  I  may  not  have  to  go  to 
America  after  all." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  America  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  bewildered 
way.  "  Oh,  if  it  were  possible — if  it  were  possible  !  "  she  mur- 
mured, "  I  would  say  I  was  too  happy.  God  is  too  good  to  me 
— to  have  them  both  given  back  to  me  in  one  day — both  of 
them  in  one  day — " 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  gently,  "  it  is  only  a  possibility,  you 
know." 

"  But  it  is  possible  ! "  she  said ;  and  there  was  a  quick,  strange, 
happy  light  in  her  face.  "  It  is  possible,  is  it  not  ?  " 

Then  she  glanced  at  her  mother ;  and  her  face,  that  had  been 
somewhat  pale,  was  pale  no  longer ;  the  blood  mounted  to  her 
forehead  ;  her  eyes  were  downcast. 

"  It  would  please  you,  would  it  not  ? "  she  said,  somewhat  for- 
mally, and  in  *a  low  and  timid  voice.  The  mother,  unobserved, 
smiled. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  But  even  if  I  go  to  America, 


A  SUMMONS.  273 

expect  your  mother  and  you  to  be  arriving  at  Sandy  Hook  ;  and 
what  then  ?  In  a  couple  of  years — it  is  not  a  long  time — I 
should  I  should  have  a  small  steamer  there  to  meet  you,  and 
we  could  sail  up  the  bay  together." 

Luncheon  over,  they  went  to  the  window,  and  greatly  ad- 
mired the  view  of  the  gardens  below  and  the  wide  river  be- 
yond ;  and  they  went  round  the  room  examining  the  water- 
colors,  and  bits  of  embroidery,  and  knickknacks  brought  from 
many  lands,  and  they  were  much  interested  in  one  or  two  por- 
traits. Altogether  they  were  charmed  with  the  place,  though 
the  elder  lady  said,  in  her  pretty,  careful  French,  that  it  was 
clear  no  woman's  hand  was  about,  otherwise  there  would  have 
been  white  curtains  at  the  windows  besides  those  heavy  straight 
folds  of  red.  Brand  said  he  preferred  to  have  plenty  of  light 
in  the  room;  and,  in  fact,  at  this  moment  the  sunlight  was 
painting  squares  of  beautiful  color  on  the  faded  old  Turkey- 
carpet.  All  this  time  Natalie  had  shown  much  reserve. 

When  the  mother  and  daughter  were  in  the  cab  together 
going  to  Edgware  Road — George  Brand  was  off  by  himself  to 
Brompton — the  mother  said, 

"  Natalushka,  why  was  your  manner  so  changed  to  Mr. 
Brand,  after  you  heard  he  might  not  be  going  to  America  ?  " 

The  girl  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  her  eyes  were  low- 
ered. 

"  You  see,  mother,"  she  said,  with  some  embarrassment, 
"  when  one  is  in  great  trouble  and  difficulty — and  when  you 
wish  to  show  sympathy — then,  perhaps,  you  speak  too  plainly. 
You  do  not  think  of  choosing  very  prudent  words  ;  your  heart 
speaks  for  you ;  and  one  may  say  things  that  a  girl  should 
not  be  too  ready  to  confess.  That  is  when  there  is  great 
trouble,  and  you  are  grieved  for  some  one.  But — but — when 
the  trouble  goes  away — when  it  is  all  likely  to  come  right — 
one  remembers — " 

The  explanation  was  rather  stammering  and  confused. 

"  But  at  least,  mother,"  she  added,  with  her  eyes  still 
downcast,  "  at  least  I  can  be  frank  with  you.  There  is  no 
harm  in  my  telling  you  that  I  love  you." 

The  mother  pressed  the  hand  that  she  held  in  hers. 

"  And  if  you  tell  me  often  enough,  Natalushka,  perhaps  I 
shall  begin  to  believe  you." 
18 


274  SUNRISE, 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A  NEW  HOME. 

GEORGE  BRAND  set  out  house-hunting  with  two  exceptional 
circumstances  in  his  favor  :  he  knew  precisely  what  he 
wanted,  and  he  was  prepared  to  pay,  for  it.  Moreover,  he 
undertook  the  task  willingly  and  cheerfully.  It  was  some- 
thing to  do.  It  would  fill  in  a  portion  of  that  period  of  sus- 
pense. It  would  prevent  his  harassing  himself  with  specula- 
tions as  to  his  own  future — speculations  which  were  ob- 
viously useless  until  he  should  learn  what  was  required  of 
him  by  the  Council. 

But  none  the  less  was  he  doomed  to  the  house-hunter's  in- 
evitable disappointment.  He  found,  in  the  course  of  his 
devious  wanderings  through  all  sorts  of  out-of-the  way  thor- 
oughfares within  a  certain  radius  from  Brompton  Church, 
that  the  houses  which  came  nearest  to  his  ideal  cottage  in  a 
walled  garden  were  either  too  far  away  from  Hyde  Park,  or 
they  were  not  to  be  let,  or  they  were  to  be  let  unfurnished. 
So,  like  a  prudent  person,  he  moderated  his  desires,  and  be- 
gan to  cast  about  for  any  furnished  house  of  fairly  cheerful 
aspect,  with  a  garden  behind.  But  here  again  he  found  that 
the  large  furnished  houses  were  out  of  the  question,  because 
they  were  unnecessarily  expensive,  and  that  the  smaller 
ones  were  mostly  to  be  found  in  slummy  streets ;  while  in 
both  cases  there  was  a  difficulty  about  servants.  The  end  of 
it  was  that  he  took  the  first  floor  of  an  old-fashioned  house 
in  Hans  Place,  being  induced  to  do  so  partly  because  the 
landlady  was  a  bright,  pleasant-looking  little  Frenchwoman, 
and  partly  because  the  rooms  were  furnished  and  decorated 
in  a  fashion  not  common  to  lodging-houses. 

Then  came  the  question  of  terms,  references,  and  what 
not ;  and  on  all  of  these  points  Mr.  Brand  showed  himself 
remarkably  complaisant.  But  when  all  this  was  done  he  sat 
down,  and  said, 

"  Now  I  wish  you  to  understand  me  clearly,  madame. 
This  lady  I  have  told  you  about  has  come  through  much 
trouble  ;  you  are  to  be  kind  to  her,  and  I  will  see  you  do  not 
lose  by  it.  Her  daughter  will  come  to  see  her  frequently, 
perhaps  every  day ;  I  suppose  the  young  lady's  maid  can 
remain  down-stairs  somewhere." 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

"  Very  well.     Now  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  get  me  pen 


A  NEW  HOME.  275 

and  ink  I  will  give  you  a  check  for  fifty-two  pounds — that  is, 
a  pound  a  week  for  a  year.  You  see,  there  are  a  number  of 
little  kindnesses  you  could  show  this  poor  lady  that  would  be 
all  the  more  appreciated  if  they  were  not  put  down  in  a  book 
and  charged  for  :  you  understand  ?  You  could  find  out,  per- 
haps, from  time  to  time  some  little  delicacy  she  is  fond  of. 
Then  flowers  :  there  is  a  good  florist's  shop  in  Sloane  Street, 
is  there  not  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

She  brought  the  ink,  and  he  drew  out  the  check. 

"  Then  when  the  young  lady  comes  to  see  her  mother  you 
will  be  very  attentive  and  kind  to  her  too.  You  must  not 
wait  for  them  to  ask  for  this  or  that ;  you  must  come  up  to 
the  door  and  say  i  Will  not  the  young  lady  have  a  cup  of 
chocolate  ? '  or  whatever  you  can  suggest — fruit,  biscuits, 
wine,  or  what  not.  And  as  these  little  extras  will  cost  you 
something,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  be  out  of  pocket ;  so  here  is 
a  fund  for  you  to  draw  from  ;  and,  of  course,  not  a  word  to 
either  of  the  ladies.  I  think  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  sir,"  said  madame. 

"  Then,  if  I  hear  that  you  have  been  very  kind  and  oblig- 
ing, I  suppose  one  might  be  allowed  from  time  to  time  to 
send  you  a  little  present — something  to  beautify  your  house 
with  ?  You  have  pretty  rooms  ;  you  have  shown  great  taste 
in  decorating  them." 

"  Oh,  not  I,  sir,"  said  the  little  Frenchwoman ;  "  I  took 
the  house  as  it  stands  from  Mr. ." 

"  The  architect,"  said  Brand.  "  Ah,  that  explains.  But  I 
am  surprised  he  should  have  used  gas." 

"  That  was  my  doing,"  said  the  landlady,  with  some  pride. 
"  It  is  a  great  improvement.  It  is  so  convenient,  is  it  not  ? " 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  Brand,  seriously,  "  it  cannot  be 
convenient  to  have  one's  lungs  poisoned  with  the  smoke  of 
London  gas.  You  must  on  no  account  allow  this  lady  who 
is  coming  to  your  house  to  sit  through  the  long  evenings  with 
gas  blazing  over  her  head  all  the  time ;  why,  she  would  have 
continual  headache.  No,  no,  you  must  get  a  couple  of  lamps 
—one  for  the  piano  there,  and  a  smaller  reading-one  for  this 
little  table  by  the  fire.  Then  these  sconces,  you  will  get 
candles  for  them,  of  course  ;  red  ones  look  pretty — not  pink, 
but  red." 

The  French  landlady  seemed  rather  dismayed.  She  had 
been  all  smiles  and  courtesy  so  far ;  but  now  the  bargain  did 
not  promise  to  be  so  profitable  if  this  was  the  way  she  was  to 
begin.  But  Brand  pulled  out  his  watch. 


276  SUNRISE. 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,"  said  he,  "  I  wifl  go  and  get  a  few 
things  to  make  the  room  look  homely.  You  see  this  lady 
must  be  made  as  comfortable  as  possible,  for  she  will  see  no 
one  but  her  daughter,  and  all  the  evenings  she  will  be  alone. 
Now  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  have  the  fire  lit  ?  And  these 
little  things  I  am  about  to  get  for  you,  of  course  they  will 
become  your  property  ;  only  you  need  not  say  who  presented 
them  to  you,  you  perceive  ?  " 

The  little  woman's  face  grew  happy  again,  and  she  assured 
him  fervently  and  repeatedly  that  he  might  trust  her  to  do 
her  best  for  this  lady  about  whom  he  seemed  so  anxious. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  he  went  out ;  most  of  the  shops 
in  Sloane  Street  had  their  windows  lit.  He  set  about  this 
further  task  of  his  with  an  eager  delight.  For  although  it 
was  ostensibly  for  Natalie's  mother  that  he  was  buying  this 
and  buying  that,  there  was  an  underlying  consciousness  that 
Natalie  herself  would  be  pleased — that  many  and  many  a 
time  she  would  occupy  that  pretty  little  sitting-room,  that 
perhaps  she  might  guess  who  it  was  who  had  been  so 
thoughtful  about  her  mother  and  herself.  Fortunately  Sloane 
Street  is  an  excellent  shopping  thoroughfare  ;  he  got  every- 
thing he  wanted — even  wax  candles  of  the  proper  tint  of  red. 
He  first  of  all  went  to  the  florist's  and  got  fruit  and  flowers 
enough  to  decorate  a  hall.  Then  from  shop  to  shop  he  wan- 
dered, buying  books  here,  a  couple  of  lamps  there,  a  low, 
softly-cushioned  easy-chair,  a  fire-screen,  pastils,  tins  of  sweet 
biscuits,  a  dozen  or  two  of  Hungarian  wine,  a  tea-making  ap- 
paratus, a  box  of  various  games,  some  white  rose  scent,  and 
he  was  very  near  adding  a  sewing-machine,  but  thought  he 
would  wait  to  see  whether  she  understood  the  use  of  that  in- 
strument. All  these  and  many  other  articles  were  purchased 
on  the  explicit  condition  that  they  were  to  be  delivered  in 
Hans  Place  within  the  following  half-hour. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  lodging-house,  carrying  in  his 
hand  the  red  candles.  These  he  placed  himself  in  the 
sconces,  and  lit  them  ;  the  effect  was  good,  now  that  the  fire 
was  blazing  cheerfully.  One  by  one  the  things  arrived  ;  and 
gradually  the  lodging-house  sitting-room  grew  more  and 
more  like  a  home.  He  put  the  flowers  here  and  there  about 
the  place,  the  little  Frenchwoman  having  brought  him  such 
small  jars  and  vases  as  were  in  her  possession — these  fortu- 
nately including  a  couple  of  bits  of  modern  Venetian  glass. 
The  reading-lamp  was  lit  and  put  on  the  small  table  ;  the 
newly  imported  easy-chair  was  drawn  to  the  fire  ;  some  books 
and  the  evening  papers  scattered  about.  He  lit  one  of  the 


A  NE 'IV  HOME.  277 

pastils,  put  the  fire-screen  in  its  place,  and  had  a  last  look 
round. 

Then  he  got  into  a  hansom  and  drove  up  to  the  house  in 
the  Edgvvare  Road.  He  was  immediately  admitted  and 
shown  up-stairs.  Natalie's  mother  rose  to  receive  him ;  he 
fancied  she  had  been  crying. 

"  I  am  come  to  take  you  to  your  new  rooms,"  he  said, 
cheerfully.  "  They  are  better  than  these." 

"  Ah,  that  is  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  also  speaking  in 
French ;  "  but  in  truth  what  do  I  care  where  I  am  ?  My 
heart  is  full  of  joy.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  sit  quiet  and  say 
to  myself,  '  My  child  loves  me.  She  has  not  turned  away 
from  me.  She  is  more  beautiful  even  than  I  had  believed  ; 
and  she  has  a  good  heart.  I  have  no  longer  any  fear.'  " 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  he,  "  but  you  must  not  sit  quiet  and 
think  like  that,  or  you  will  become  ill,  and  then  how  are 
you  to  go  out  walking  with  Natalie  ?  You  have  many  things 
to  do,  and  many  things  to  decide  on.  For  example,  you  will 
have  to  explain  to  her  how  it  is  you  may  not  go  to  her  father's 
house.  At  this  moment  what  other  thing  than  that  do  you 
imagine  she  is  thinking  about  ?  She  will  ask  you." 

"  I  would  rather  not  tell  her,"  said  the  mother,  absently ; 
"  it  is  better  she  should  not  know." 

He  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Then  it  is  impossible  that  a  reconciliation  between  your 
husband  and  yourself — " 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  "  she  said,  somewhat  sadly ;  "  that  is  impos- 
sible, now." 

"  And  you  are  anxious  he  should  not  know  that  you  and 
your  daughter  see  each  other." 

"  I  am  not  so  anxious,"  she  said.  "  I  have  faith  in  Nata- 
lushka  :  I  can  perceive  her  courage.  But  perhaps  it  would  be 
better." 

"  Very  well.  Then  come  to  these  other  rooms  I  have  got 
for  you  ;  they  are  in  a  more  secluded  neighborhood." 

"Very  well,  monsieur.  I  have  but  few  things  with  me.  I 
will  be  ready  soon." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  after  that  the  French  landlady 
was  receiving  her  new  guest ;  and  so  eager  was  she  to  show 
to  the  English  gentleman  her  gratitude  for  his  substantial 
presents,  that  her  officious  kindness  was  almost  burdensome. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  the  new-comer,  with  a  smile,  as  the 
landlady  brought  her  a  cushion  for  her  back  the  moment  she 
sat  down  in  the  easy  chair,  "  but  I  am  not  yet  an  invalid." 

Then  would  madame  have  some  tea?     Or  perhaps  madame 


278  SUNRISE. 

had  not  dined  ?  There  was  little  in  the  house  ;  but  something 
could  be  prepared  at  once ;  from  to-morrow  morning  ma- 
dame's  instructions  would  be  fulfilled  to  the  letter.  To  get 
rid  of  her,  Brand  informed  her  that  maclame  had  not  dined, 
and  would  be  glad  to  have  anything  that  happened  to  be  in 
the  house.  Then  she  left,  and  he  was  about  to  leave  also. 

"  No,"  said  the  beautiful  mother  to  him,  with  a  smile  on 
the  pale  face.  "  Sit  down  ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

He  sat  down,  his  hat  still  in  his  hand. 

"  I  have  not  thanked  you,"  she  said.  "  I  see  who  has  done 
all  this :  do  you  think  a  stranger  would  know  to  have  the 
white-rose  scent  for  me  that  Natalie  uses  ?  She  was  right  : 
you  are  kind — you  think  of  others." 

"  It  is  nothing — it  is  nothing,"  he  said,  hastily,  and  with  all 
an  Englishman's  embarrassment. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  his  companion,  with  a  grave  kind- 
ness in  her  tone,  and  a  look  of  affectionate  interest  in  her 
eyes,  "  I  am  going  to  prove  my  gratitude  to  you.  I  am  going 
to  prevent — what  do  you  call  it  ? — a  lover's  quarrel." 

He  started. 

"Yesterday,"  she  continued,  still  regarding  him  in  that 
kindly  way,  "before  we  left  your  rooms,  Natalushka  was  very 
reserved  toward  you  ;  was  it  not  so  ?  I  perceived  it ;  and 
you  ? " 

"  I — I  thought  she  was  tired,"  he  stammered. 

"  To-morrow  you  are  to  fetch  her  here  ;  and  what  if  you 
find  her  still  more  reserved — even  cold  toward  you  ?  You 
will  be  pained,  perhaps  alarmed.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  life  is 
made  very  bitter  sometimes  by  mistakes  ;  so  it  is  that  I  must 
tell  you  the  reason.  The  child  loves  you ;  be  sure  of  that. 
Yes  ;  but  she  thinks  that  she  has  been  too  frank  in  saying  so 
— in  time  of  trouble  and  anxiety ;  and  now — now  that  you 
are  perhaps  not  going  to  America — now  that  perhaps  all  the 
trouble  is  over — now  she  is  beginning  to  think  she  ought. to 
be  a  little  more  discreet,  as  other  young  ladies  are.  The  child 
means  no  harm,  but  you  and  she  must  not  quarrel." 

He  took  her  hand  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

"  Natalie  and  I  are  not  likely  to  quarrel,"  said  he,  cheer- 
fully. "  Now  I  am  going  away.  If  I  stayed,  you  .would  do 
nothing  but  talk  about  her,  whereas  it  is  necessary  that  you 
should  have  some  dinner,  then  read  one  of  these  books  for 
an  hour  or  so,  then  go  to  bed  and  have  a  long,  sound  night's 
rest.  You  must  be  looking  your  brightest  when  she  comes  to 
see  you  to-morrow." 

And  indeed,  as  it  turned  out  subsequently,  this  warning  of 


A  NEW  HOME.  275 

the  mother's  was  not  wholly  unnecessary.  Next  day  at  eleven 
o'clock,  as  had  previously  been  arranged,  Brand  met  Natalie 
at  the  corner  of  Great  Stanhope  Street  to  escort  her  to  the 
house  to  which  her  mother  had  removed.  He  had  not  even 
got  into  the  park  with  her  when  he  perceived  that  her  man- 
ner was  distinctly  reserved.  Anneli  was  with  her,  and  she 
kept  talking  from  time  to  time  to  the  little  maid,  who  was  thus 
obliged,  greatly  against  her  will,  to  walk  close  to  her  mistress. 
At  last  Brand  said, 

"  Natalie,  have  I  offended  you  ? " 

"  Oh  no !  "  she  said,  in  a  hurried,  low  voice. 

"Natalie,"  said  he,  very  gently,  "I  once  heard  of  a  wicked 
creature  wh,o  was  determined  to  play  the  hypocrite,  and  might 
have  done  a  great  deal  of  mischief,  only  she  had  a  most  amia- 
ble mother,  who  stepped  in  and  gave  somebody  else  a  warn- 
ing. Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  wicked  person  ?  " 

The  blood  mounted  to  her  face.  By  this  time  Anneli  had 
taken  leave  to  fall  behind. 

"  Then,"  said  the  girl,  with  some  hesitation,  and  yet  with 
firmness,  "you  will  not  misunderstand  me.  If  all  the  circum- 
stances are  to  be  altered,  then — then  you  must  forget  what  I 
have  said  to  you  in  moments  of  trouble.  I  have  a  right  to 
ask  it.  You  must  forget  the  past  altogether." 

"  But  it  is  impossible  !  " 

"  It  is  necessary." 

For  some  minutes  they  walked  on  in  silence.  Then  he  felt 
a  timid  touch  on  his  arm  ;  her  hand  had  been  laid  there,  de- 
precatingly,  for  a  moment.- 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me  ? " 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  said  he,  frankly,  "  for  the  very  reason  that 
what  you  ask  is  impossible,  unnecessary,  absurd.  You 
might  as  well  ask  me  to  forget  that  I  am  alive.  In  any  case, 
isn't  it  rather  too  soon  ?  Are  you  so  sure  that  all  the  trouble 
is  past  ?  Wait  till  the  storm  is  well  over,  and  we  are  going 
into  port,  then  we  will  put  on  our  Sunday  manners  to  go 
ashore." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  angry  with  me,"  she  said  again,  tim- 
idly. 

"  You  could  not  make  me,  if  you  tried,"  he  said,  simply ; 
"  but  I  am  proud  of  you,  Natalie — proud  of  the  courage  and 
clearness  and  frankness  of  your  character,  and  I  don't  like  to 
see  you  fall  away  from  that,  and  begin  to  consider  what  a 
school-mistress  would  think  of.  you." 

"  It  is  not  what  any  one  may  think  of  me  that  I  consider ; 


280  SUNRISE. 

it  is  what  I  think  of  myself,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  low 
voice. 

They  reached  Hans  Place.  The  mother  was  at  the  door 
of  the  room  to  welcome  them.  She  took  her  daughter  by  the 
hand  and  led  her  in. 

"  Look  round,  Natalushka,"  she  said.  "  Can  you  guess 
who  has  arranged  all  this  for  me — for  me  and  for  you  ?  " 

The  girl  almost  instantly  turned — her  eyes  cast  down — and 
took  her  lover's  hand,  and  kissed  it  in  silence.  That  was 
all. 

Then  said  he,  lightly,  as  he  shoved  the  low  easy-chair  nearer 
the  fire, 

"  Come,  madame,  and  sit  down  here  ;  and  you,  Natalushka, 
here  is  a  stool  for  you,  that  you  will  be  able  to  lean  your  head 
on  your  mother's  knee.  There  ;  it  is  a  very  pretty  group  :  do 
you  know  why  I  make  you  into  a  picture  ?  Well,  you  see, 
these  are  troubled  times  ;  and  one  has  one's  work  to  do  ;  and 
who  can  tell  what  may  happen  ?  But  don't  you  see  that, 
whatever  may  happen,  I  can  carry  away  with  me  this  picture ; 
and  always,  wherever  I  may  be,  I  can  say  to  myself  that 
Natalie  and  her  mother  are  together  in  the  quiet  little  room, 
and  that  they  are  happy.  Now  I  must  bid  you  good-bye  ;  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  business  to-day  with  my  solicitor.  And 
the  landlady,  madame  :  how  does  she  serve  you  ?  " 

"  She  overwhelms  me  with  kindness." 

"  That  is  excellent,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  hands  with  them 
and,  against  both  their  protests,  took  his  leave. 

He  carried  away  that  picture  in  his  mind.  He  had  left 
these  two  together,  and  they  were  happy.  What  mattered  it 
to  him  what  became  of  himself  ? 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  that  day  that  he  had  to  obey  the 
summons  of  the  Council. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A   CONCLAVE. 

PUNCTUAL  to  the  moment  George  Brand  arrived  in  Lisle 
Street.  He  was  shown  into  an  inner  room,  where  he  found 
Lind  seated  at  a  desk,  and  Reitzei  and  Beratinsky  standing 
by  the  fireplace.  On  an  adjacent  table  where  four  cups  of 
black  coffee,  four  small  glasses,  a  bottle  of  brandy,  and  a  box 
of  cigarettes. 


A  CONCLAVE.  281 

Lind  rose  to  receive  him,  and  was  very  courteous  indeed — 
apologizing  for  having  had  to  break  in  on  his  preparations  for 
leaving,  and  offering  him  coffee,  cigarettes,  and  what  not. 
When  the  new-comer  had  declined  these,  Lind  resumed  his 
place  and  begged  the  others  to  be  seated. 

"  We  will  proceed  to  business  at  once,  gentlemen,"  said 
he,  speaking  in  quite  an  ordinary  and  matter-of-fact  way, 
"  although,  I  will  confess  to  you,  it  is  not  business  entirely 
to  my  liking.  Perhaps  I  should  not  say  so.  This  paper, 
you  see,  contains  my  authorization  from  the  Council  to  sum- 
mon you  and  to  explain  the  service  they  demand  :  perhaps  I 
should  merely  obey,  and  say  nothing.  But  we  are  friends ; 
we  can  speak  in  confidence." 

Here  Reitzei,  who  was  even  more  pallid  than  usual,  and 
whose  fingers  seemed  somewhat  shaky,  filled  one  of  the  small 
glasses  of  brandy,  and  drank  it  off. 

"  I  do  not  say  that  I  hesitate,"  continued  Lind—"  that  I 
am  reluctant,  because  the  service  that  is  required  from  us — 
from  one  of  us  four — is  dangerous — is  exceedingly  dangerous. 
No,"  he  said,  with  a  brief  smile,  "  as  far  as  I  am  myself  con- 
cerned, I  have  carried  my  life  in  my  hands  too  often  to  think 
much  about  that.  And  you,  gentlemen,  considering  the  ob- 
ligations you  have  accepted,  I  take  it  that  the  question  of 
possible  harm  to  yourselves  is  not  likely  to  interfere  with 
your  obedience  to  the  commands  of  the  Council." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Reitzei,  eagerly  and  nervously,  "  I  tell 
you  this,  I  should  like  to  have  something  exciting  now — I  do 
not  care  what.  I  am  tired  of  this  work  in  London  ;  it  is  slow, 
regular,  like  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  I  am  for  something  to 
stir  the  blood  a  little.  J  say  that  I  am  ready  for  anything." 

"  As  for  me,'*  said  Beratinsky,  curtly,  "  no  one  has  ever  yet 
called  me  a  coward." 

Brand  said  nothing;  but  he  perceived  that  this  was  some- 
thing unusually  serious,  and  almost  unconsciously  he  closed 
his  right  hand  that  he  might  feel  the  clasp  of  Natalie's  ring. 
There  was  no  need  to  appeal  to  his  oaths  of  allegiance. 

Lind  proceeded,  in  a  graver  fashion, 

"  Yes,  I  confess  that  personally  I  am  for  avoiding  violence, 
for  proceeding  according  to  law.  But  then  the  Council 
would  say,  perhaps,  '  Are  there  not  injuries  for  which  the  law 
gives  no  redress  ?  Are  there  not  those  who  are  beyond  the 
power  of  the  law  ?  And  we,  who  have  given  our  lives  to  the 
redressing  of  wrongs,  to  the  protection  of  the  poor,  to  the 
establishment  of  the  right,  are  we  to  stand  by  and  see  the 


282  SUNRISE. 

moral  sense  of  the  community  outraged  by  those  in  high 
places,  and  say  no  word,  and  lift  no  hand  ?  * ' 

He  took  up  a  book  that  was  lying  on  the  table,  and  opened 
it  at  a  marked  page. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there  are  occasions  on  which  a  man  may 
justly  take  the  law  into  his  own  hands  ;  may  break  the  law, 
and  go  beyond  it,  and  punish  those  whom  the  law  has  failed 
to  punish ;  and  the  moral  sense  of  the  world  will  say,  '  Well 
done  ! '  Did  you  ever  happen  to  read,  Mr.  Brand,  the  letter 
written  by  Madame  von  Maderspach  ? " 

Brand  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name :  it  recalled  the 
first  evening  on  which  he  had  seen  Natalie.  What  strange 
things  had  happened  since  then  !  He  answered  that  he  did 
not  know  of  Madame  von  Maderspach's  letter. 

"  By  chance  I  came  across  it  to-day,"  said  Lind,  looking 
at  the  book.  "  Listen :  'I  was  torn  from  the  arms  of  my  hus- 
band, from  the  circle  of  my  children,  from  the  hallowed 
sanctuary  of  my  home,  charged  with  no  offence,  allowed  no 
hearing,  arraigned  before  no  judge.  I,  a  woman,  wife,  and 
mother,  was  in  my  own  native  town,  before  the  people  accus- 
tomed to  treat  me  with  respect,  dragged  into  a  square  of  sol- 
diers, and  there  scourged  with  rods.  Look,  I  can  write  this 
without  dropping  dead !  But  my  husband  killed  himself. 
Robbed  of  all  other  weapons,  he  shot  himself  with  a  pocket- 
pistol.  The  people  rose,  and  would  have  killed  those  who 
instigated  these  horrors,  but  their  lives  were  saved  by  the  in- 
terference of  the  military.'  Very  well.  Von  Maderspach 
took  his  own  way  ;  he  shot  himself.  But  if,  instead  of  doing 
that,  he  had  taken  the  law  into  his  own  hands,  and  killed  the 
author  of  such  an  outrage,  do  you  think  there  is  a  human 
being  in  the  world  who  would  have  blamed  him  ? " 

He  appealed  directly  to  Brand.  Brand  answered  calmly, 
but  with  his  face  grown  rather  white,  "  I  think  if  such  a  think 
were  done  to — to  my  wife,  I  would  have  a  shot  at  some- 
body." 

Perhaps  Lind  thought  that  it  was  the  recital  of  the  wrongs 
of  Madame  von  Maderspach  that  had  made  this  man's  face 
grow  white,  and  given  him  that  look  about  the  mouth  ;  but 
at  all  events  he  continued,  "  Exactly  so.  I  was  only  seeking 
to  show  you  that  there  are  occasions  on  which  a  man  might 
justly  take  the  law  into  his  own  hands.  Well,  then,  some 
would  argue — I  don't  say  so  myself,  but  some  would  say — 
that  what  a  man  may  do  justly  an  association  may  do  justly. 
What  would  the  quick-spreading  civilization  of  America  have 
done  but  for  the  Lynch  tribunals?  The  respectable  people 


A  CONCLAVE.  283 

said  to  themselves,  '  it  is  question  of  life  or  death.  We  have 
to  attack  those  scoundrels  at  once,  or  society  will  be  de- 
stroyed. We  cannot  wait  for  the  law :  it  is  powerless.' 
And  so  when  the  president  had  given  his  decision,  out  they 
went  and  caught  the  scoundrels,  and  strung  them  up  to  the 
nearest  tree.  You  do  not  call  them  murderers.  John  Lynch 
ought  to  have  a  statue  in  every  Western  State  in  America." 

"  Certainly,  certainly  !  "  exclaimed '  Reitzei,  reaching  over 
and  filling  out  another  glass  of  brandy  with  an  unsteady 
hand.  He  was  usually  an  exceedingly  temperate  person. 
"  We  are  all  agreed.  Justice  must  be  done,  whether  the  law 
allows  or  not ;  I  say  the  quicker  the  better." 

Lind  paid  no  heed  to  him,  but  proceeded  quietly,  "  Now  I 
will  come  more  directly  to  what  is  required  of  us  .by  the 
Council ;  I  have  been  trying  to  guess  at  their  view  of  the 
question;  perhaps  I  am  altogether  wrong;  but  no  matter. 
And  I  will  ask  you  to  imagine  yourselves  not  here  in  this 
free  country  of  England,  where  the  law  is  strong — and  not 
only  that,  but  you  have  a  public  opinion  that  is  stronger  still 
— and  where  it  is  not  possible  that  a  great  Churchman  should 
be  a  man  living  in  open  iniquity,  and  an  oppressor  and  a 
scoundrel — I  will  ask  you  to  imagine  yourselves  living  in 
Italy,  let  one  say  in  the  Papal  Territory  itself,  where  the 
reign  of  Christ  should  be,  and  where  the  poor  should  be 
cared  for,  if  there  is  Christianity  still  on  the  earth.  And  you 
are  poor,  let  us  say ;  hardly  knowing  how  to  scrape  together 
a  handful  of  food  sometimes  ;  and  your  children  ragged  and 
hungry  ;  and  you  forced  from  time  to  time  to  go  to  the  Monte 
di  Pieta  to  pawn  your  small  belongings,  or  else  you  will  die, 
or  you  will  see  your  children  die  before  your  eyes." 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Reitzei.  "  That  is  the  worst  of 
it — to  see  one's  children  die !  That  is  worse  than  one's  own 
hunger." 

"  And  you/'  continued  Lind,  quietly,  but  still  with  a  little 
more  distinctness  of  emphasis,  "  you,  you  poor  devils,  you 
see  a  great  dignitary  of  the  Church,  a  great  prince  among 
priests,  living  in  shameless  luxury,  in  violation  of  every  law, 
human  and  divine,  with  the  children  of  his  mistresses  set  up 
in  palaces,  himself  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  What  law 
does  he  not  break,  this  libertine,  this  usurer  ?  What  makes 
the  corn  dear,  so  that  you  cannot  get  it  for  your  starving 
children  ? — what  but  this  plunderer,  this  robber,  seizing  the 
funds  that  extremity  has  dragged  from  the  poor  in  order 
to  buy  up  the  grain  of  the  States  ?  A  pretty  speculation  ! 
No  wonder  that  you  murmur  and  complain ;  that  you  curse 


284  SUNRISE. 

him  under  your  breath  •  that  you  call  him  //  cardinale  affama- 
tore.  And  no  wonder,  if  you  happen  to  belong  to  a  great  as- 
sociation that  has  promised  to  see  justice  done,  no  wonder 
you  come  to  that  association  and  say,  *  Masters,  why  cannot 
justice  be  done  now  ?  It  is  too  long  to  wait  for  the  Millen- 
nium. Remove  this  oppressor  from  the  face  of  the  earth  : 
down  with  the  Starving  Cardinal  ! ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,  yes  !  "  cried  Reitzei,  excitedly.  Beratinsky  sat 
silent  and  sullen.  Brand,  with  some  strange  foreboding  of 
what  was  coming,  still  sat  with  his  hand  tight  closed  on 
Natalie's  ring. 

"  More,"  continued  Lind — and  now,  if  he  was  acting,  it 
was  a  rare  piece  of  acting,  for  wrath  and  indignation  gath- 
ered on  his  brow,  and  increased  the  emphasis  of  his  voice 
— "  it  is  not  only  your  purses,  it  is  not  only  your  poor  starved 
homesteadings  that  are  attacked,  it  is  the  honor  of  your 
women,  Whose  sister  or  daughter  is  safe  ?  Mr.  Brand,  one 
of  your  English  poets  has  made  the  poor  cry  to  the  rich, 

"  '  Our  sons  are  your  slaves  by  day, 

Our  daughters  your  slaves  by  night.' 

c 

But  what  if  some  day  a  poor  man — I  will  tell  you  his  name 
—his  name  is  De  Bedros  ;  he  is  not  a  peasant,  but  a  help- 
less, poor  old  man — what  if  this  man  comes  to  the  great  asso- 
ciation that  I  have  mentioned  and  says,  wringing  his  hands, 
'  My  Brothers  and  Companions,  you  have  sworn  to  protect 
the  weak  and  avenge  the  injured  :  what  is  your  oath  worth  if 
you  do  not  help  me  now  ?  My  daughter,  my  only  daughter, 
has  been  taken  from  me,  she  has  been  stolen  from  my  side, 
shrieking  with  fear,  and  I  thrown  bleeding  into  the  ditch. 
By  whom  ?  By  one  who  is  beyond  the  law ;  who  laughs  at 
the  law  ;  who  is  the  law !  But  you — you  will  be  the  avengers. 
Too  long  has  this  monster  outraged  the  name  of  Christ  and  in- 
sulted the  forbearance  of  his  fellow  creatures  :  my  Brothers, 
this  is  what  I  demand  from  your  hands — I  demand  from  the 
SOCIETY  OF  THE  SEVEN  STARS — I  demand  from  you,  the  Coun- 
cil— I  demand,  my  Brothers  and  Companions,  a  decree  of  death 
against  the  monster  Zaccatelli ! ' ' 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  the  decree  !  "  shouted  Reitzei,  all  trembling. 
"  Who  could  refuse  it  ?  Or  I  myself — " 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Lind,  calmly,  "the  decree  has  been 
granted.  Here  is  my  authority  ;  read  it." 

He  held  out  the  paper  first  of  all  to  Brand,  who  took  it  in 
both  his  hands,  and  forced  himself  to  go  over  it.  But  he 


A  CONCLAVE.  285 

could  not  read  it  very  carefully ;  his  heart  was  beating  quickly  ; 
he  was  thinking  of  a  great  many  things  all  at  once — of  Lord 
Evelyn,  of  Natalie,  of  his  oaths  to  the  Society,  even  of  his 
Berkshire  home  and  the  beech- woods.  He  handed  on  the 
paper  to  Reitzei,  who  was  far  too  much  excited  to  read  it  at 
all.  Beratinsky  merely  glanced  at  it  carelessly,  and  put  it 
back  on  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  Lind  continued,  returning  to  his  unemo- 
tional manner,  "  personally,  I  consider  it  just  that  this  man, 
whom  the  law  cannot  or  does  not  choose  to  reach,  should  be 
punished  for  his  long  career  of  cruelty,  oppression,  and  crime, 
and  punished  with  death !  but,  as  I  confessed  to  you  before, 
I  could  have  wished  that  that  punishment  had  not  been  de- 
livered by  our  hands.  .We  have  made  great  progress  in  Eng- 
land ;  and  we  have  been  preaching  nothing  but  peace  and 
good-will,  and  the  use  of  lawful  means  of  amelioration.  If 
this  deed  is  traced  to  our  Society,  as  it  almost  certainly  will 
be,  it  will  do  us  a  vast  amount  of  injury  here  ;  for  the  Eng- 
lish people  will  not  be  able  to  understand  that  such  a  state 
of  affairs  as  I  have  described  can  exist,  or  that  this  is  the 
only  remedy.  As  I  said  to  you  before,  it  is  with  great  reluct- 
ance that  I  summoned  you  here  to-night — " 

"  Why  so,  Brother  Lind  ?  "  Reitzei  broke  in,  and  again  he 
reached  over  for  the  bottle.  "  We  are  not  cowards,  then  ?  " 

Beratinsky  took  the  bottle  from  him  and  put  it  back  on  the 
table. 

Reitzei  did  not  resent  this  interference  ;  he  only  tried  to 
roll  up  a  cigarette,  and  did  not  succeed  very  well  with  his 
trembling  fingers. 

"  You  will  have  seen,"  said  Lind,  continuing  as  if  there 
had  been  no  interruption,  "  why  the  Council  have  demanded 
this  duty  of  the  English  section.  The  lesson  would  be 
thrown  away  altogether — a  valuable  life  belonging  to  the  So- 
eiety  would  be  lost — if  it  were  supposed  that  this  was  an  act 
of  private  revenge.  No;  the  death  of  Cardinal  Zaccatelli 
will  be  a  warning  that  Europe  will  take  to  heart.  At  least," 
he  added,  thoughtfully,  "  I  hope  it  will  prove  to  be  so,  and  I 
hope  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  repeat  the  warning." 

"  You  are  exceedingly  tender-hearted,  Brother  Lind,"  said 
Reitzei.  "Do  you  pity  this  man,  then?  Do  you  think  he 
should  flourish  his  crimes  in  the  face  of  the  world  for  another 
twenty,  thirty  years  ?  " 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  what  I  think,"  observed  Lind,  in 
the  same  quiet  fashion.  "  It  is  enough  for  us  that  we  know 
our  duty.  The  Council  have  commanded  ;  we  obev." 


286  SUNRISE. 

"Yes;  but  let  us  come  to  the  point,  Brother  Lind,"  said 
Beratinsky,  in  a  somewhat  surly  fashion.  "  I  do  not  much  care 
what  happens  to  me  ;  yet  one  wishes  to  know." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Lind,  composedly,  "  you  know  that 
among  the  ordinances  of  the  Society  is  one  to  the  effect  that 
no  member  shall  be  sent  on  any  duty  involving  peril  to  his 
life  without  a  ballot  among  at  least  four  persons.  As  this 
particular  service  is  one  demanding  great  secrecy  and  circum- 
spection, I  have  considered  it  right  to  limit  the  ballot  to  four 
— to  ourselves,  in  fact." 

There  was  not  a  word  said. 

"  That  the  duty  involves  peril  to  life  is  obvious ;  it  will  be 
a  miracle  if  he  who  undertakes  this  affair  should  escape.  As 
for  myself,  you  will  perceive  by  the  paper  you  have  read  that 
I  am  commissioned'  by  the  Council  to  form  the  ballot,  but  not 
instructed  to  include  myself.  I  could  avoid  doing  so  if  I 
chose,  but  when  I  ask  my  friends  to  run  a  risk,  I  am  willing 
to  take  the  same  risk.  For  the  rest,  I  have  been  in  as  dan- 
gerous enterprises  before." 

He  leaned  over  and  pulled  toward  him  a  sheet  of  paper. 
Then  he  took  a  pair  of  scissors  and  cut  the  sheet  into  four 
pieces  ;  these  he  proceeded  to  fold  up  until  they  were  about 
the  size  of  a  shilling,  and  identically  alike.  All  the  time  he 
was  talking. 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  a  dangerous  business,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  and  one  requiring  great  forethought  and  caution.  Then  I 
do  not  say  it  is  altogether  impossible  one  might  escape  ; 
though  then  the  warning,  the  lesson  of  this  act  of  punishment 
might  not  be  so  effective  :  they  might  mistake  it  for  a  Camorra 
affair,  though  the  Cardinal  himself  already  knows  otherwise." 

He  opened  a  bottle  of  red  ink  that  stood  by. 

"  The  simplest  means  are  sufficient,"  said  he.  "  This  is 
how  we  used  to  settle  affairs  in  '48." 

He  opened  one  of  the  pieces  of  paper,  and  put  a  cross  in 
red  on  it,  which  he  dried  on  the  blotting-paper.  Then  he 
folded  it  up  again,  threw  the  four  pieces  into  a  pasteboard 
box,  put  down  the  lid,  and  shook  the  box  lightly. 

"  Whoever  draws  the  red  cross,"  he  said,  almost  indiffer- 
ently, "  carries  out  the  command  of  the  Council.  Have  you 
anything  to  say,  gentlemen — to  suggest  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Reitzei,  boldly. 

Lind  regarded  him. 

"  What  is  the.  use  of  the  ballot  ?  "  said  the  pallid-faced 
young  man.  "  What  if  one  volunteers  ?  I  should  myself 
like  to  settle  the  business  of  the  scoundrelly  Cardinal." 


A  CONCLAVE.  287 

Lind  shook  his  head. 

"  Impossible.  Calabressa  thought  of  a  volunteer  ;  he  was 
mad  !  There  must  be  a  ballot.  Come  ;  shall  we  proceed  ?  " 

He  opened  the  box  and  put  it  before  Beratinsky.     Berat- 
insky  took   out  one  of  the  papers,  opened   it,  glanced  at  it, 
crumpled  it  up,  and  threw  it  into  the  fire. 
-     "  It  isn't  I,  at  all  events,"  he  said. 

It  was  Reitzei  next.  When  he  glanced  at  the  paper  he 
had  drawn,  he  crushed  it  together  with  an  oath,  and  dashed 
it  on  the  floor. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  he  exclaimed,  "  just  when  I  was 
eager  for  a  bit  of  active  service.  So  it  is  you,  Brother  Lind. 
or  our  friend  Brand  who  is  to  settle  the  business  of  the 
Starving  Cardinal." 

Calmly,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  Lind  handed  the  box 
to  George  Brand ;  and  he,  being  a  proud  man,  and  in  the 
presence  of  foreigners,  was  resolved  to  show  no  sign  of  emo- 
tion whatever.  When  he  took  out  the  paper  and  opened  it, 
and  saw  his  fate  there  in  the  red  cross,  he  laid  it  on  the  table 
before  him  without  a  word.  Then  he  shut  his  hand  on  Nat- 
alie's ring. 

"  Well,"  said  Lind,  rather  sadly,  as  he  took  out  the  remain- 
ing paper  without  looking  at  it,  and  threw  aside  the  box,  "  I 
almost  regret  it,  as  between  you  and  me.  I  have  less  of 
life  to  look  forward  to." 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  one  question,"  said  Brand,  rising  :  he 
was  perfectly  firm. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  The  orders  of  the  Council  must  be  obeyed.  I  only  wish 
to  know  whether — when — when  this  thing  comes  to  be  done 
— I  must  declare  my  own  name  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all !  "  Lind  said,  quickly.  "  You  may 
use  any  name  you  like." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said.  Then,  with  the  same  proud, 
impassive  firmness,  he  made  an  appointment  for  the  next 
clay,  got  his  hat  and  coat,  bade  his  companions  good-night, 
and  went  down-stairs  into  the  cold  night  air.  He  could  not 
realize  as  yet  all  that  had  happened,  but  his  first  quick,  in- 
stinctive thought  had  been, 

"  Ah,  not  that — not  the  name  that  my  mother  bore  1  " 


28S  SUNRISE. 

CHAPTER    XLI. 

IN  THE   DEEPS. 

THE  sudden  shock  of  the  cold  night  air  was  a  relief  to  his 
burning  brain  ;  and  so  also  as  he  passed  into  the  crowded 
streets,  was  the  low  continuous  thunder  all  around  him.  The 
theatres  were  coming  out ;  cabs,  omnibuses,  carriages  added 
to  the  muffled  roar ;  the  pavements  were  thronged  with  peo- 
ple talking,  laughing,  jostling,  calling  out  one  to  the  other. 
He  was  glad  to  lose  himself  in  this  seething  multitude ;  he 
was  glad  to  be  hidden  by  the  darkness  ;  he  would  try  to 
think. 

But  his  thoughts  were  too  rapid  and  terrible  to  be  very 
clear.  He  only  vaguely  knew — it  was  a  consciousness  that 
seemed  to  possess  both  heart  and  brain  like  a  consuming  fire 
— that  the  beautiful  dreams  he  had  been  dreaming  of  a  future 
beyond  the  wide  Atlantic,  with  Natalie  living  and  working 
by  his  side,  her  proud  spirit  cheering  him  on,  and  refus- 
ing to  be  daunted — these  dreams  had  been  suddenly  snatched 
away  from  him  ;  and  in  their  stead,  right  before  him,  stood 
this  pitiless,  inexorable  fate.  He  could  not  quite  tell  how  it 
had  all  occurred,  but  there  at  least  was  the  horrible  certainty, 
staring  him  right  in  the  face.  He  could  not  avoid  it ;  he 
could  not  shut  his  eyes  to  it,  or  draw  back  from  it ;  there  was 
no  escape.  Then  some  wild  desire  to  have  the  thing  done  at 
once  possessed  him.  At  once — at  once — and  then  the  grave 
would  cover  over  his  remorse  and  despair.  Natalie  would 
forget ;  she  had  her  mother  now  to  console  her.  Evelyn 
would  say,  "  Poor  devil,  he  was  not  the  first  who  got  into 
mischief  by  meddling  in  schemes  without  knowing  how  far  he 
might  have  to  go."  Then  amidst  all  this  confused  din  of  the 
London  streets,  what  was  the  phrase  that  kept  ringing  in  his 
ears  ? — "  And  when  she  bids  die  he  shall  surely  die  !  "  But  he 
no  longer  heard  the  pathetic  vibration  of  Natalie  Lind's 
voice  ;  the  words  seemed  to  him  solemn,  and  distant,  and 
hopeless,  like  a  knell.  But  only  if  it  were  ovei — that  was 
again  his  wild  desire.  In  the  grave  was  forgetfulness  and 
peace. 

Presently  a  curious  fancy  seized  him.  At  the  corner  of 
Windmill.  Street  a  ragged  youth  was  bawling  out  the  name  of 
a  French  journal.  Brand  bought  a  copy  of  the  journal,  passed 
on,  and  walked  into  an  adjacent  cafe,  and  took  a  seat  atone 
of  the  small  tables.  A  waiter  came  to  him,  and  he  mechanic- 


IN  THE  DEEPS.  289 

ally  ordered   coffee.      He  began  to  search  this   newspaper 
for  the  array  of  paragraphs  usually  headed  Tribunaux. 

At  last,  in  the  corner  of  the  newspaper,  he  found  that  head- 
ing, though  under  it  there  was  nothing  of  any  importance  or 
interest.  But  it  was  the  heading  itself  that  had  a  strange 
fascination  for  him.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  it.  Then  he 
began  to  see  detached  phrases  and  sentences — or,  perhaps, 
it  was  only  in  his  brain  that  he  saw  them :  "  The  Assassina- 
tion of  Count  Zaccatelli !  The  accused,  an  Englishman,  who 
refuses  to  declare  his  name,  admits  that  he  had  no  personal 
enmity — commanded  to  execute  this  horrible  crime — a  pun- 
ishment decreed  by  a  society  which  he  will  not  name — con- 
fesses his  guilt — is  anxious  to  be  sentenced  at  once,  and  to 
die  as  soon  as  the  law  permits.  .  .  .  This  morning  the  as- 
sassin of  Cardinal  Zaccatelli,  who  has  declared  his  name  to 
be  Edward  Bernard,  was  executed." 

He  hurriedly  folded  up  the  paper,  just  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  some  one  overlooking  and  reading  these  words,  and  glanced 
around.  No  one  was  regarding  him.  The  cafe  was  nearly 
full,  and  there  was  plenty  of  laughing  and  talking  amidst  the 
glare  of  the  gas.  He  slunk  out  of  the  place,  leaving  the  cof- 
fee untasted.  But  when  he  had  got  outside  he  straightened 
himself  up,  and  his  face  assumed  a  firmer  expression.  He 
walked  quickly  along  to  Clarges  Street.  The  Evelyns'  house 
was  dark  from  top  to  bottom  ;  apparently  the  family  had  re- 
tired for  the  night.  "  Perhaps  he  is  at  the  Century,"  Brand 
said  to  himself,  as  he  started  off  again.  But  just  as  he  got 
to  the  corner  of  the  street  a  hansom  drove  up,  and  the  driver 
taking  the  corner  too  quickly,  sent  the  wheel  on  to  the  curb. 

"Why  don't  you  look  where  you're  going  to?"  a  voice 
called  out  from  the  inside  of  the  cab. 

"  Is  that  you,  Evelyn  ?  "  Brand  cried. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  was  the  reply;  and  the  hansom  was  stopped, 
and  Lord  Evelyn  descended.  "  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  can 
still  answer  for  myself.  I  thought  we  were  in  for  a  smash." 

"  Can  you  spare  me  five  minutes  ?  " 

"Five  hours  if  you  like." 

The  man  was  paid  ;  the  two  friends  walked  along  the  pave- 
ment together. 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  found  you  after  all,  Evelyn,"  Brand 
said.  "  The  fact  is,  my  nerves  have  had  a  bad  shake." 

"  I  never  knew  you  had  any.     I  always  fancied  you  could 
drive  a  fire-brigade  engine  full  gallop  along  the  Strand  on  a 
wet  night,  with  the  theatres  coming  out." 
19 


290  SUNRISE. 

"  A  few  minutes'  talk  with  you  will  help  me  to  pull  myself 
together  again.  Need  we  go  into  the  house  ?  " 

"  We  sha'n't  wake  anybody." 

They  noiselessly  went  into  the  house,  and  passed  along 
the  hall  until  they  reached  a  small  room  behind  the  dining- 
room.  The  gas  was  lit,  burning  low.  There  were  biscuits, 
seltzer-water,  and  spirits  on  the  table. 

Lord  Evelyn  was  in  the  act  of  turning  the  gas  higher,  when 
he  happened  to  catch  sight  of  his  friend.  He  uttered  a  quick 
exclamation.  Brand,  who  sat  down  in  a  chair,  was  crying, 
with  his  hands  over  his  face,  like  a  woman. 

"  Great  heavens,  what  is  it,  Brand  ?  " 

That  confession  of  weakness  did  not  last  long.  Brand  rose 
to  his  feet  impatiently,  and  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down 
the  small  room. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Well,  I  have  received  my  sentence  to-night, 
Evelyn.  But  it  isn't  that — it  is  the  thought  of  those  I  shall 
leave  behind — Natalie,  and  those  boys  of  my  sister's — if  peo- 
ple were  to  find  out  after  all  that  they  were  related  to  me  ! " 

He  was  looking  at  the  things  that  presented  themselves  to 
his  own  mind  ;  he  forgot  that  Evelyn  could  not  understand  ; 
he  almost  forgot  that  he  was  speaking  aloud.  But  by-and-by 
he  got  himself  better  under  control.  He  sat  down  again. 
He  forced  himself  to  speak  calmly :  the  only  sign  of  emotion 
was  that  his  face  was  rather  pale,  and  his  eyes  looked  tired 
and  harassed. 

"Yes,  I  told  you  my  nervous  system  had  got  a  shock,  Eve- 
lyn ;  but  I  think  I  have  got  over  it.  It  won't  do  for  me  in  my 
position  to  abandon  one's  self  to  sentiment." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

Brand  regarded  him. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  whole  thing,  but  this  will  be  enough. 
The  Council  have  decreed  the  death  of  a  certain  person,  and 
I  am  appointed  his  executioner." 

"  You  are  raving  mad  ! " 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  I  were,"  he  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "  However,  such  is  the  fact.  The  ballot  was  taken  to- 
night ;  the  lot  fell  to  me.  I  have  no  one  to  blame  except 
myself." 

Lord  Evelyn  was  too  horrified  to  speak.  The  calm  manner 
of  his  companion  ought  to  have  carried  conviction  with  it ; 
and  yet — and  yet — how  could  such  a  thing  be  possible? 

"Yes,  I  blame  myself,"  Brand  said,  "for  not  having  made 
certain  reservations  when  pledging  myself  to  the  Society. 
But  how  was  one  to  think  of  such  things?  When  Lind  used 


/A'  THE  DEEPS.  291 

to  denounce  the  outrages  of  the  Nihilists,  and  talk  with  indig- 
nation of  the  useless  crimes  of  the  Camorra,  how  could  one 
have  thought  it  possible  that  assassination  should  be  de- 
manded of  you  as  a  duty  ? " 

"ButLind,"  Lord  Evelyn  exclaimed — "surely  Lind  does 
not  approve  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  No,  he  does  not,"  Brand  answered.  "  He  says  it  will 
prove  a  misfortune — " 

"  Then  why  does  he  not  protest  ?  " 

"  Protest  against  a  decree  of  the  Council !  "  the  other  ex- 
claimed. "  You  don't  know  as  much  as  I  do,  Evelyn,  about 
that  Council.  No,  I  have  sworn  obedience,  and  I  will  obey." 

He  had  recovered  his  firmness  ;  he  seemed  resigned — even 
resolved.  It  was  his  friend  who  was  excited. 

"  I  tell  you  all  the  oaths  in  the  world  cannot  compel  a  man 
to  commit  murder,"  Evelyn  said,  hotly. 

"  Oh,  they  don't  call  it  murder,"  Brand  replied,  without  any 
bitterness  whatever;  "they  call  it  a  punishment,  a  warning 
to  the  evil-doers  of  Europe.  And  no  doubt  this  man  is  a 
great  scoundrel,  and  cannot  be  reached  by  the  law ;  and  then, 
besides,  one  of  the  members  of  the  Society,  who  is  poor  and 
old,  and  who  has  suffered  grievous  wrong  from  this  man,  has 
appealed  to  the  Council  to  avenge  him.  No ;  I  can  see  their 
positions.  I  have  no  doubt  they  believe  they  are  acting 
justly." 

"  But  you  yourself  do  not  think  so." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  it  is  not  for  the  private  soldier  to  ask 
whether  his  sovereign  has  gone  to  war  justly  or  unjustly.  It 
is  his  business  to  obey  commands — to  kill,  if  need  be — ac- 
cording to  his  oath." 

"  Why,  you  are  taking  the  thing  as  a  matter  of  course," 
Lord  Evelyn  cried,  indignantly.  "  I  cannot  believe  it  possi- 
ble yet !  And — and  if  it  were  possible — consider  how  I  should 
upbraid  myself  :  it  was  I  who  led  you  into  this  affair,  Brand." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  other,  absently. 

He  was  staring  into  the  smouldering  fire  ;  and  for  a  second 
or  two  he  sat  in  silence.  Then  he  said,  slowly  and  thought- 
fully, 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  led  a  very  selfish  life.  Natalie  would 
not  say  so  ;  she  is  generous.  But  it  is  true.  Well,  this  will 
make  some  atonement.  She  will  know  that  I  kept  my  word 
to  her.  She  gave  me  that  ring,  Evelyn." 

He  held  out  his  hand  for  a  moment. 

"  It  was  a  pledge  that  I  should  never  draw  back  from  my 
allegiance  to  the  Society.  Well,  neither  she  nor  I  then  fan- 


292 

cied  this  thing  could  happen  ;  but  now  I  am  not  going  to  turn 
coward.  You  saw  me  show  the  white  feather,  Evelyn,  for  a 
minute  or  two:  I  don't  think  it  was  about  myself;  it  was 
about  her — and — and  one  or  two  others.  You  see  our  talk- 
ing together  has  sent  off  all  that  nervous  excitement ;  now 
we  can  speak  about  business — " 

"  I  will  not — I  will  not !  "  Evelyn  said,  still  greatly  moved. 
"  I  will  go  to  Lincl  himself.  I  will  tell  him  that  no  duty  of 
this  kind  was  ever  contemplated  by  any  one  joining  here.  It 
may  be  all  very  well  for  Naples  or  Sicily  ;  it  won't  do  for  the 
people  on  this  side  the  Channel  :  it  will  ruin  his  work  :  he 
must  appeal — I  will  drive  him  to  it !  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Brand  said,  quietly,  "  I  told  you  Lind 
has  accepted  the  execution  of  this  affair  with  reluctance.  He 
knows  it  will  do  our  work — well,  my  share  in  it  will  be  soon 
over — no  good.  But  in  this  business  there  in  no  appeal. 
You  are  only  a  companion ;  you  don't  know  what  stringent 
vows  you  have  to  undertake  when  you  get  into  the  other 
grades.  Moreover,  I  must  tell  you  this  thing  to  his  credit. 
He  is  not  bound  to  take  the  risk  of  the  ballot  himself,  but  he  did 
to-night.  It  is  all  over  and  settled,  Evelyn.  What  is  one 
man's  life,  more  or  less  ?  People  go  to  throw  away  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  lives  '  with  a  light  heart.'  And  even  if  this 
affair  should  give  a  slight  shock  to  some  of  our  friends  here, 
the  effect  will  not  be  permanent.  The  organization  is  too 
big,  too  strong,  too  eager,  to  be  really  injured  by  such  a  trifle 
I  want  to  talk  about  business  matters  now." 

"  I  won't  hear  you — I  will  not  allow  this,"  Lord  Evelyn 
protested,  trembling  with  excitement. 

"You  must  here  me  ;  the  time  is  short,"  Brand  said,  with 
decision.  "  When  this  thing  has  to  be  done  I  don't  know ;  I 
shall  probably  hear  to-morrow ;  but  I  must  at  once  take  steps 
to  prevent  shame  falling  on  the  few  relatives  I  have.  I  shall 
pretend  to  set  out  on  some  hunting-expedition  or  other — 
Africa  is  a  good  big  place  for  one  to  lose  one's  self  in — and 
if  I  do  not  return,  what  then  ?  I  shall  leave  you  my  executor, 
Evelyn ;  or,  rather,  it  will  be  safer  to  do  the  whole  thing  by 
deed  of  gift.  I  shall  give  my  eldest  sister's  son  the  Bucking- 
hamshire place  ;  then  I  must  leave  the  other  one  something. 
Five  hundred  pounds  at  four  per  cent,  would  pay  that  poor 
devil  Kirski's  rent  for  him,  and  help  him  on  a  bit.  Then  I 
am  going  to  make  you  a  present,  Evelyn  ;  so  you  see  you  shall 
benefit  too.  Then  as  for  Natalie — or  rather,  her  mother — " 

"  Her  mother !  "     Evelyn  stared  at  him. 

"  Natalie's  mother  is  in  London  :  you  will  learn  her  story 


IN  THE  DEEPS.  293 

from  herself,"  Brand  continued,  briefly.  "  In  the  mean 
time,  do  not  tell  Land  until  she  permits  you.  I  have  taken 
rooms  for  her  in  Hans  Place,  and  Natalie  will  no  doubt  goto 
see  her  each  day ;  but  I  am  afraid  the  poor  lady  is  not  very 
well  off,  for  the  family  has  always  been  in  political  troubles. 
Well,  you  see,  Evelyn,  I  could  leave  you  a  certain  sum,  the 
"interest  of  which  you  could  manage  to  convey  to  her  in  some 
roundabout  and  delicate  way  that  would  not  hurt  her  pride. 
You  could  do  this,  of  course." 

"  But  you  are  talking  as  if  your  death  was  certain  !  "  Lord 
Evelyn  exclaimed,  rather  wildly.  "  Even  if  it  is  all  true,  you 
might  escape," 

Brand  turned  away  his  head  as  he  spoke. 

"  Do  you  think,  then,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  that,  even  if  that 
were  possible,  I  should  care  to  live  red-handed  ?  The  Coun- 
cil cannot  demand  that  of  me  too.  If  there  is  one  bullet  for 
him,  the  next  one  will  be  for  myself ;  and  if  I  miss  the  first 
shot  I  shall  make  sure  about  the  second.  There  will  be  no 
examination  of  the  prisoner,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I 
shall  leave  a  paper  stating  the  object  and  cause  of  my  attempt ; 
but  I  shall  go  into  it  nameless,  and  the  happiest  thing  I  can 
hope  for  is  that  forgetfulness  will  gather  round  it  and  me  as 
speedily  as  may  be." 

Lord  Evelyn  was  deeply  distressed.  He  could  no  longer 
refuse  to  believe  ;  and  inadvertently  he  bethought  himself  of 
the  time  when  he  had  besought  and  entreated  this  old  friend 
of  his  to  join  the  great  movement  that  was  to  regenerate 
Europe.  Was  this  the  end,  then — a  vulgar  crime  ? — the  strong, 
manly,  generous  life  to  be  thrown  away,  and  Natalie  left 
broken-hearted  ? 

"  What  about  her  ?  "  he  asked,  timidly. 

"About  Natalie,  clo  you  mean?"  said  Brand,  starting 
somewhat.  "Curiously  enough,  I  was  thinking  about  her 
also.  I  was  wondering  whether  it  could  be  concealed  from 
her — whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  let  her  imagine  with 
the  others  that  I  had  got  drowned  or  killed  somewhere.  But 
I  could  not  do  that.  The  uncertainty  would  hang  over  her 
for  years.  Better  the  sharp  pain,  at  once — of  parting ;  then 
her  mother  must  take  charge  of  her  and  console  her,  and  be 
kind  to  her.  What  I  fear  most  is  that  she  may  blame  herself 
— she  may  fancy  that  she  is  some  how  responsible — " 

"  It  is  I,  surely,  who  must  take  that  blame  on  myself,"  said 
Lord  Evelyn,  sadly.  "  But  for  me,  how  could  you  have  been 
led  into  joining  the  Society  ?  " 

"  Neither  she  nor  you  have  anything  to  reproach  yourselves 


294  SUNKISE. 

with.  What  was  my  life  worth  to  me  when  I  joined  ?  Then 
for  a  time  I  saw  a  vision  of  what  may  yet  be  in  the  world — of 
what  will  be,  please  God  ;  and  what  does  it  matter  if  one  here 
or  one  there  falls  out  of  the  ranks  ? — the  great  army  is  moving 
on  :  and  for  a  time  there  were  others  visions.  Poor  Natalie  ! 
— I  am  glad  her  mother  has  come  to  her  at  last." 

He  rose. 

"  I  wish  I  could  offer  you  a  bed  here,"  Lord  Evelyn  said. 

"  I  have  a  great  many  things  to  arrange  to-night,"  he  an- 
swered, simply.  "  Perhaps  I  may  not  be  able  to  get  to  bed 
at  all." 

Lord  Evelyn  hesitated. 

"  When  can  I  see  you  to-morrow  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 
"  You  know  I  am  going  to  Lind  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

Brand  stopped  abruptly. 

"  I  must  absolutely  forbid  your  doing  anything  of  the  kind," 
said  he,  firmly.  "  This  is  a  matter  of  the  greatest  secrecy ; 
there  is  to  be  no  talking  about  it ;  I  have  given  you  some 
hint,  and  the  same  I  shall  give  to  Natalie,  and  there  an  end." 
He  added,  "  Your  interference  would  be  quite  useless,  Evelyn. 
The  matter  is  not  in  Lind's  hands. 

He  bade  his  friend  good-night. 

"  Thank  you  for  letting  me  bore  you  so  long.  You  see,  I 
expected  talking  over  the  thing  woufd  drive  off  that  first  shock 
of  nervousness.  Now  I  am  going  to  play  the  part  of  Karl 
Sand  with  indifference.  When  you  hear  of  me,  you  will 
think  I  must  have  been  brought  up  by  the  Tugendbund  or 
the  Carbonari,  or  some  of  those  societies." 

"  This  cheerfulness  did  not  quite  deceive  Lord  Evelyn. 
He  bade  his  friend  good-night  with  some  sadness ;  his  mind 
was  not  at  ease  about  the  share  he  attributed  to  himself  in  this 
calamity. 

When  Brand  reached  his  chambers  in  Buckingham  Street 
there  was  a  small  parcel  awaiting  him.  He  opened  it,  and 
found  a  box  with,  inside,  a  tiny  nosegay  of  sweet-smelling 
flowers.  These  were  not  half  as  splendid  as  those  he  had  got 
the  previous  afternoon  for  the  rooms  in  Hans  Place,  but  there 
was  something  accompanying  them  that  gave  them  sufficient 
value.  It  was  a  strip  of  paper,  and  on  it  was  written — 
"  From  Natalie  and  from  Natalushka,  with  more  than  thanks." 

"I  will  carry  them  with  me,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "until 
the  day  of  my  death.  Perhaps  they  may  not  have  quite 
withered  by  then." 


\ 


A  COMMUNICATION,  295 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

A   COMMUNICATION. 

Now,  he  said  to  himself,  he  would  think  no  more  ;  he  would 
act.  The  long  taHc  with  Lord  Evelyn  had  enabled  him  to 
pull  himself  together ;  there  would  be  no  repetition  of  that 
half-hysterical  collapse.  More  than  one  of  his  officer-friends 
had  confessed  to  him  that  they  had  spent  the  night  before 
their  first  battle  in  abject  terror,  but  that  that  had  all  gone 
off  as  soon  as  they  were  called  into  action.  And  as  for  him- 
self, he  had  many  things  to  arrange  before  starting  on  this 
hunting-expedition,  which  was  to  serve  as  a  cloak  for  another 
enterprise.  He  would  have  to  write  at  once,  for  example,  to 
his  sister — an  invalid  widow,  who  passed  her  life  alternately 
on  the  Riviera  and  in  Switzerland — informing  her  of  his  intend- 
ed travels.  He  would  have  to  see  that  a  sufficient  sum  was 
left  for  Natalie's  mother,  and  put  into  discreet  hands.  The 
money  for  the  man  Kirski  would  have  to  be  properly  tied  up, 
lest  it  should  prove  a  temptation.  Why,  those  two  pieces  of 
Italian  embroidery  lying  there,  he  had  bought  them  months 
ago,  intending  to  present  them  to  Natalie,  but  from  time  to 
time  the  opportunity  had  been  missed.  And  so  forth,  and 
so  forth. 

But  despite  all  this  fortitude,  and  these  commonplace  and 
practical  considerations,  his  eyes  would  wander  to  that  little 
handful  of  flowers  lying  on  the  table,  and  his  thoughts  would 
wander  farther  still.  As  he  pictured  to  himself  his  going  to 
the  young  Hungarian  girl,  and  taking  her  hand,  and  telling 
her  that  now  it  was  no  longer  a  parting  for  a  couple  of  years, 
but  a  parting  forever,  his  heart  grew  cold  and  sick.  He 
thought  of  her  terrified  eyes,  of  her  self-reproaches,  of  her 
entreaties,  perhaps. 

"  I  wish  Evelyn  would  tell  her,"  he  murmured  aloud,  and 
he  went  to  the  window.  "  Surely  it  would  be  better  if  I  were 
never  to  see  her  again." 

It  was  a  long  and  agonizing  night,  despite  all  his  resolutions. 
The  gray  morning,  appearing  palely  over  the  river  and  the 
bridges,  found  him  still  pacing  up  and  down  there,  with  noth- 
ing settled  at  all,  no  letter  written,  no  memoranda  made. 
All  that  the  night  had  done  was  to  increase  a  hundred-fold 
his  dread  of  meeting  Natalie.  And  now  the  daylight  only 
told  him  that  that  interview  was  coming  nearer.  It  had  be- 
come a  question  of  hours. 


296  SUNRISE. 

At  last,  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  despair,  he  threw  himself 
on  a  couch  hard  by,  and  presently  sunk  into  a  broken  and 
troubled  sleep.  For  now  the  mind,  emancipated  from  the  con- 
trol of  the  will,  ran  riot ;  and  the  quick-changing  pictures  that 
were  presented  to  him  were  full  of  fearful  things  that  shook 
his  very  life  with  terror.  Awake  he  could  force  himself  to 
think  of  this  or  that ;  asleep,  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  this  lu- 
rid imagination  that  seemed  to  dye  each  successive  scene  in 
the  hue  of  blood.  First  of  all,  he  was  in  a  great  cathedral, 
sombre  and  vast,  and  by  the  dim  light  of  the  candles  he  saw 
that  some  solemn  ceremony  was  going  forward.  Priests,  mitred 
and  robed,  sat  in  a  semicircle  in  front  of  the  altar ;  on  the 
altar-steps  were  three  figures;  behind  the  altar  a  space  of 
gloom,  from  whence  issued  the  soft,  clear  singing  of  the  chor- 
isters. Then,  suddenly,  into  that  clear  sweet  singing  broke 
a  loud  blare  of  trumpets  ;  a  man  bounded  on  to  the  altar- 
steps  ;  there  was  the  flash  of  a  blade — a  shriek — a  fall ;  then 
the  roar  of  a  crowd,  sullen,  and  distant,  and  awful.  It  is  the 
cry  of  a  great  city ;  and  this  poor  crouching  fugitive,  who 
hides  behind  the  fountain  in  the  Place,  is  watching  for  his 
chance  to  dart  away  into  some  place  of  safety.  But  the  crowd 
have  let  him  pass ;  they  are  merciful ;  they  are  glad  of  the 
death  of  their  enemy  ;  it  is  only  the  police  he  has  to  fear. 
What  lane  is  dark  enough  ?  What  ruins  must  he  haunt,  like 
a  dog,  in  the  night-time  ?  But  the  night  is  full  of  fire,  and  the 
stars  overhead  are  red,  and  everywhere  there  is  a  roar  and  a 
murmur — the  assassination  of  the  Cardinal ! 

Well,  it  is  quieter  in  this  dungeon  ;  and  soon  there  will  be 
an  end,  and  peace.  But  for  the  letters  of  fire  that  burns  one's 
brain  the  place  would  be  as  black  as  night ;  and  it  is  still  as 
night ;  one  can  sit  and  listen.  And  now  that  dull  throbbing 
sound — and  a  strain  of  music — is  it  the  young  wife  who,  all 
unknowing,  is  digging  her  husband's  grave  ?  How  sad  she  is  ! 
She  pities  the  poor  prisoner,  whoever  he  may  be.  She  would 
not  dig  this  grave  if  she  knew  :  she  calls  herself  Fidelio ;  she. 
is  faithful  to  her  love.  But  now — but  now — though  this  hole 
is  black  as  night,  and  silent,  and  the  waters  are  lapping  out- 
side, cannot  one  know  what  is  passing  there  ?  There  are 
some  who  are  born  to  be  happy.  Ah,  look  at  the  faithful 
wife  now,  as  she  strikes  off  her  husband's  fetters — listen  to  the 
glad  music,  destin  ormaifelice  ! — they  take  each  other's  hand 
— they  go  away  proudly  into  the  glad  daylight — husband  and 
wife  together  for  evermore.  This  poor  prisoner  listens,  though 
his  heart  will  break.  The  happy  music  grows  more  and  more 
faint — the  husband  and  wife  are  together  now — the  beautiful 


A  COMMUNICATION.  297 

white  day  is  around  them — the  poor  prisoner  is  left  alone  : 
there  is  no  one  even  coming  to  bid  him  farewell. 

The  sleeper  moaned  in  his  sleep,  and  stretched  out  his 
hand  as  if  to  seek  some  other  hand. 

"  No  one — not  even  a  word  of  good-bye  !  "  he  murmured. 

But  then  the  dream  changed.  And  now  it  was  a  wild  and 
windy  day  in  the  blowing  month  of  March,  and  the  streams 
in  this  Buckinghamshire  valley  were  swollen,  and  the  woods 
were  bare.  Who  are  these  two  who  come  into  the  small  and 
bleak  church-yard  ?  They  are  a  mother  and  daughter  ;  they 
are  all  in  black  ;  and  the  face  of  the  daughter  is  pale,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Her  face  is  white,  and  the  flowers  she 
carries  are  white,  and  that  is  the  white  tombstone  there  in  the 
corner — apart  from  the  others.  See  how  she  kneels  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  grave,  and  puts  the  flowers  lightly  on  the  grass, 
and  clasps  her  trembling  hands,  and  prays. 

"Natalie — my  wife /"  he  calls  in  his  sleep. 

And  behold  !  the  white  tombstone  has  letters  of  fire  written 
on  it,  and  the  white  flowers  are  changed  to  drops  of  blood, 
and  the  two  black  figures  have  hurried  away  and  disappeared. 
How  the  wind  tears  down  this  wide  valiey,  in  which  there  is 
no  sign  of  life.  It  is  so  sad  to  be  left  alone. 

Well,  it  was  about  eight  o'clock  when  he  was  awakened  by 
the  entrance  of  Waters.  He  jumped  up,  and  looked  around, 
haggard  and  bewildered.  Then  his  first  thought  was, 

"  A  few  more  nights  like  this,  and  Zaccatelli  will  have  little 
to  fear." 

He  had  his  bath  and  breakfast ;  all  the  time  he  was  forcing 
himself  into  an  indignant  self-contempt.  He  held  out  his  hand 
before  him,  expecting  to  see  it  tremble  :  but  no.  This  reas- 
sured him  somewhat. 

A  little  before  eleven  he  was  at  the  house  in  Hans  Place. 
He  was  immediately  shown  up-stairs.  Natalie's  mother  was 
there  to  receive  him  ;  she  did  not  notice  he  looked  tired. 

"  Natalie  is  coining  to  you  this  morning  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  why  not  ?  It  gives  her  pleasure  ,  it  gives  me 
joy.  But  I  will  not  keep  the  child  always  in  the  house  ;  no, 
she  must  have  her  walk.  Yesterday,  after  you  had  left,  we 
went  to  a  very  secluded  place — a  church  not  far  from  here, 
and  a  cemetery  behind." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  know,"  he  said.  "  But  you  might  have  chosen 
a  more  cheerful  place  for  your  walk." 

"  Any  place  is  cheerful  enough  for  me  when  my  daughter 
is  with  me,"  said  she,  simply  ;  "  and  it  is  quiet." 


298  S17NRJSE. 

George  Brand  sat  with  his  hands  clinched.  Every  moment 
he  thought  he  should  hear  Natalie  knock  at  the  door  below. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  with  some  little  hesitation,  "  something 
has  happened  of  serious  importance — I  mean,  of  a  little  im- 
portance. When  Natalie  comes  I  must  tell  her — " 

"  And  you  wish  to  see  her  alone,  perhaps  ?  "  said  the  mother, 
lightly.  "  Why  not  ?  And  listen — it  is  she  herself,  I  be- 
lieve !  " 

A  minute  afterward  the  door  was  opened,  and  Natalie  en- 
tered, radiant,  happy,  with  glad  eyes.  Then  she  started  when 
she  saw  George  Brand  there,  but  there  was  no  fear  in  her 
look.  On  the  contrary,  she  embraced  her  mother  ;  then  she 
went  to  him,  and  said,  with  a  pleased  flush  in  her  face, 

"  I  had  no  message  this  morning.  You  did  not  care,  then, 
for  our  little  bunch  of  flowers  ?  " 

He  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  for  a  second. 

"  I  thought  I  should  see  you  to-day,  Natalie  ;  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you." 

Her  face  grew  graver. 

"  Is  it  something  serious  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  to  gain  time,  for  the  mother  was  still  in 
the  room,  "  it  is  serious  or  not  serious,  as  you  like  to  take  it. 
It  does  not  involve  the  fate  of  a  nation,  for  example." 

"  It  is  mysterious,  at  all  events." 

At  this  moment  the  elder  woman  took  occasion  to  slip  noise- 
lessly from  the  room. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  "  sit  down  here  by  me." 

She  put  the  footstool  on  which  she  was  accustomed  to  sit 
at  her  mother's  side  close  to  his  chair,  and  seated  herself.  He 
took  her  hand  and  held  it  tight. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice — and  he  was  himself 
rather  pale — "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  may  per- 
haps startle  you,  and  even  grieve  you ;  but  you  must  keep 
command  over  yourself,  or  you  will  alarm  your  mother — " 

"  You  are  not  in  danger  ?  "  she  cried,  quickly,  but  in  a  low 
voice :  there  was  something  in  his  tone  that  alarmed  her. 

"  The  thing  is  simple  enough,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  com- 
posure. "  You  know  that  when  one  has  joined  a  certain  So- 
ciety, and  especially  when  one  has  accepted  the  responsibili- 
ties I  have,  there  is  nothing  that  may  not  be  demanded.  Look 
at  this  ring,  Natalie." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  breathlessly. 

"  That  is  a  sufficient  pledge,  even  if  there  were  no  others. 
I  have  sworn  allegiance  to  the  Society  at  all  hazards ;  I  can- 
not retreat  now. 


A  COMMUNICATION.  299 

"  But  is  it  so  very  terrible  ?  "  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  Dear- 
est, I  will  come  over  to  you  in  America.  I  have  told  my 
mother ;  she  will  take  me  to  you — " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  America,  Natalie." 

She  looked  up  bewildered. 

"  I  have  been  commissioned  to  perform  another  duty,  more 
immediate,  more  definite.  And  I  must  tell  you  now,  Natalie, 
all  that  I  dare  tell  you  :  you  must  be  prepared ;  it  is  a  duty 
which  will  cost  me  my  life  !  " 

"  Your  life  ?  "  she  repeated,  in  a  bewildered,  wild  way,  and 
she  hastily  drew  her  hand  away  from  his.  "  Your  life  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Natalie  !  " 

"  You  are  to  die  !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  she  gazed  with  ter- 
ror-stricken eyes  into  his  face.  She  forgot  all  about  his  alle- 
giance to  the  Society ;  she  forgot  all  about  her  theories  of 
self-sacrifice ;  she  only  heard  that  the  man  she  loved  was 
doomed,  and  she  said,  in  a  low,  hoarse  voice,  "  And  it  is  I, 
then,  who  have  murdered  you  !  " 

"  Natalie  !  "  he  cried,  and  he  would  have  taken  her  hand 
again,  but  she  withdrew  from  him,  shuddering.  She  clasped 
her  hands  over  her  face. 

"  Oh,  do  not  touch  me,"  she  said,  "  do  not  come  near  me. 
I  have  murdered  you :  it  is  I  who  have  murdered  you  ! " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Natalie,  be  calm  !  "  he  said  to  her,  in 
a  low,  earnest  voice.  "  Think  of  your  mother  :  do  not  alarm 
her.  You  knew  we  might  be  parted  for  years — well,  this  part- 
ing is  a  little  worse  to  bear,  that  is  all — and  you,  who  gave  me 
this  ring,  you  are  not  going  to  say  a  word  of  regret.  No,  no,  Nat- 
alushka,  many  thousands  and  thousands  of  people  in  the  world 
have  gone  through  what  stands  before  us  now,  and  wives 
have  parted  from  their  husbands  without  a  single  tear,  so 
proud  were  they." 

She  looked  up  quickly ;  her  face  was  white. 

"I  have  no  tears,"  she  said,  "  none  !  But  some  wives  have 
gone  with  their  husbands  into  the  danger,  and  have  died  too — 
ah,  how  happy  that  were  for  any  one  ! — and  I,  why  may  not  I 
go  ?  I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

He  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  dark  hair. 

"  My  child,  it  is  impossible,"  he  said ;  and  then  he  added, 
rather  sadly,  "  It  is  not  an  enterprise  that  any  one  is  likely  to 
gain  any  honor  by— it  is  far  from  that ;  but  it  has  to  be  under- 
taken— that  is  enough.  As  for  you — you  have  your  mother 
to  care  for  now ;  will  not  that  fill  your  life  with  gladness  ?  " 

"  How  soon — do — you  go  away  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 


300 

"  Almost  immediately,"  he  said,  watching  her.  She  had 
not  shed  a  single  tear,  but  there  was  a  strange  look  on  her 
face.  "  Nothing  is  to  be  said  about  it.  I  shall  be  supposed 
to  have  started  on  a  travelling-expedition,  that  is  all." 

"  And  you  go — forever  ? " 

"  Yes." 

She  rose. 

"  We  shall  see  you  yet  before  you  go  ? " 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  in  despair,  "  I  had  come  to  try  to  say 
good-bye  to  you ;  but  I  cannot,  my  darling,  I  cannot !  I 
must  see  you  again. 'Ji 

"  I  clo  not  understand  why  you  should  wish  to  see  again 
one  like  me,"  she  said,  slowly,  and  the  voice  did  not  sound 
like  her  own  voice.  "  I  have  given  you  over  to  death  :  and, 
more  than  that,  to  a  death  that  is  not  honorable  ;  and,  yet  I 
cannot  even  tell  you  that  I  am  grieved.  But  there  is  pain 
here."  She  put  her  hand  over  her  heart;  she  staggered 
back  a  little  bit ;  he  caught  her. 

"  Natalie— Natalie  !  " 

"  It  is  a  pain  that  kills,"  she  said,  wildly. 

"Natalie,  where  is  your  courage?  I  give  my  life  without 
question  ;  you  must  bear  your  part  too." 

She  still  held  her  hand  over  her  bosom. 

"  Yet,"  she  said,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him,  "  that  is  what 
they  say ;  it  kills,  this  pain  in  the  heart.  Why  not — if  one 
does  not  wish  to  live  ? " 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  mother  came 
into  the  room. 

"  Madame,"  said  Brand,  quickly,  "  come  and  speak  to  your 
daughter.  I  have  had  to  tell  her  something  that  has  upset 
her,  perhaps,  for  a  moment;  but  you  will  console  her  ;  she  is 
brave." 

"  Child,  how  you  tremble,  and  how  cold  your  hands  are  ! " 
the  mother  cried. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  mother.  From  every  pain  there  is  a 
release,  is  there  not  ? " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Natalushka  ?  " 

"  And  I — and  I,  mother — " 

She  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  down,  but  she  held  firm. 
Then  she  released  herself  from  her  mother's  hold,  and  went 
forward  and  took  her  lover's  hand,  and  "regarded  him  with 
the  sad,  fearless,  beautiful  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  selfish,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  been  thinking  of 
myself,  when  that  is  needless.  For  me  there  will  be  a  re- 


A  COMMUNICATION.  301 

lease — quickly  enough :  I  shall  pray  for  it.  Now  tell  me 
what  I  must  do  :  I  will  obey  you." 

"  First,  then,"  said  he,  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  and  in 
English,  so  that  her  mother  should  not  understand,  "  you 
must  make  light  of  this  affair,  or  you  will  distress  your 
mother  greatly,  and  she  is  not  able  to  bear  distress.  Some 
day,  if  you  think  it  right,  you  may  tell  her ;  you  know  noth- 
ing that  could  put  the  enterprise  in  peril ;  she  will  be  as  dis- 
creet and  silent  as  yourself,  Natalie.  Then  you  must  put  it 
out  of  your  mind,  my  darling,  that  you  have  any  share  in 
what  has  occurred.  What  have  I  to  regret  ?  My  life  was 
worthless  to  me ;  you  made  it  beautiful  for  a  time  ;  perhaps, 
who  knows,  it  may  after  all  turn  out  to  have  been  of  some 
service,  and  then  there  can  be  no  regret  at  all.  They  think 
so,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  question." 

"  May  I  not  tell  my  mother  now  ?  "  she  said,  imploringly. 
"  Dearest,  how  can  I  speak  to  her,  and  be  thinking  of  you 
far  away  ? " 

"  As  you  please,  Natalie.  The  little  I  have  told  you  or 
Evelyn  can  do  no  harm,  so  long  as  you  keep  it  among  your- 
selves." 

"  But  I  shall  see  again  ? "  It  was  her  heart  that  cried  to 
him. 

"Oh  yes,  Natalie,'"  he  said,  gravely.  "  I  may  not  have  to 
leave  England  for  a  week  or  two.  I  will  see  you  as  often  as 
I  can  until  I  go,  my  darling,  though  it  may  only  be  torture  to 
you." 

"  Torture  ?  "  she  said,  sadly.  "  That  will  come  after — un- 
til there  is  an  end  of  the  pain." 

"Hush,  you  must  not  talk  like  that  You  have  now  one 
with  you  whom  it  is  your  duty  to  support  and  console.  She 
has  not  had  a  very  happy  life  either,  Natalie." 

He  was  glad  now  that  he  was  able  to  leave  this  terror- 
stricken  girl  in  such  tender  hands.  And  as  for  himself,  he 
found,  when  he  had  left,  that  somehow  the  strengthening  of 
another  had  strengthened  himself.  He  had  less  dread  of  the 
future;  his  face  was  firm;  the  time  for  vain  regrets  was 
over. 


302  SUNRISE. 

CHAPTER   XLIII. 

A   QUARREL. 

MEANWHILE,  almost  immediately  after  George  Brand  had 
left  the  house  in  Lisle  Street,  Reitzei  and  Beratinsky  left 
also.  On  shutting  the  street-door  behind  them,  Beratinsky 
bade  a  curt  good-night  to  his  companion,  and  turned  to  go'; 
but  Reitzei,  who  seemed  to  be  in  very  high  spirits,  stayed 
him. 

"  No,  no,  friend  Beratinsky  ;  after  such  a  fine  night's  work 
I  say  we  must  have  a  glass  of  wine  together.  We  will  walk 
up  to  the  Culturverein." 

"  It  is  late,"  said  the  other,  somewhat  ungraciously. 

"  Never  mind.  An  hour,  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  half  an 
hour,  what  matter  ?  Come,"  said  he,  laying  hold  of  his  arm 
and  taking  him  away  unwillingly,  "  it  is  not  polite  of  you  to 
force  me  to  invite  myself.  I  do  not  suppose  it  is  the  cost  of 
the  wine  you  are  thinking  of.  Mark  my  words  :  when  I  am 
elected  a  member,  I  shall  not  be  stingy." 

Beratinsky  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away,  and  together 
the  two  walked  up  toward  Oxford  Street.  Beratinsky  was 
silent,  and  even  surly ;  Reitzei  garrulous  and  self-satisfied. 

"  Yes,  I  repeat  it ;  a  good  night's  work.  For  the  thing  had 
to  be  done  ;  there  were  the  Council's  orders ;  and  who  so 
appropriate  as  the  Englishman  ?  Had  it  been  you  or- J,  Ber- 
atinsky, or  Lind,  how  could  any  one  of  us  have  been  spared  ? 
No  doubt  the  Englishman  would  have  been  glad  to  have  Lind's 
place,  and  Lind's  daughter,  too  :  however,  that  is  all  settled 
now,  and  very  well  done.  I  say  it  was  very  well  done  on 
the  part  of  Lind.  And  what  did  you  think  of  my  part,  friend 
Beratinsky  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself,  friend  Reitzei,"  said 
the  other,  abruptly. 

Reitzei  was  a  vain  young  man,  and  he  had  been  fishing  for 
praise. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  angrily. 

"  What  I  mean  I  say,"  replied  the  other,  with  something 
very  like  cool  contempt.  "  I  say  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself. 
When  a  man  is  drunk,  he  does  his  best  to  appear  sober ; 
you,  being  sober,  tried  to  appear  drunk,  and  made  a  fool  of 
yourself." 

"  My  friend  Beratinsky,"  said  the  younger  man,  hotly,  "you 
have  a  right  to  your  own  opinion — every  man  has  that ;  but 


A  QUARREL.  303 

you  should  take  care  not  to  make  an  ass  of  yourself  by  ex- 
pressing it.  Do  not  speak  of  things  you  know  nothing  about 
— that  is  my  advice  to  you." 

Beratinsky  did  not  answer;  and  the  two  walked  on  in 
silence  until  they  reached  the  Verein,  and  entered  the  long, 
resounding  hall,  which  was  nearly  empty.  But  the  few  mem- 
bers who  remained  were  making  up  for  their  paucity  of  num- 
bers by  their  mirth  and  noise.  As  Beratinsky  and  his  com- 
panion took  their  seats  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  the 
chairman  struck  his  hammer  violently,  and  commanded 
silence. 

"  Silentium,  meine  Herren  !  "  he  thundered  out.  "  I  have 
a  secret  to  communicate.  A  great  honor  has  been  done  one 
of  our  members,  and  even  his  overwhelming  modesty  permits 
it  to  be  known  at  last.  Our  good  friend  Josef  Hempel  has 

been  appointed  Hof-maler  to  the  Grand-duke  of .  I  call 

in  you  to  drink  his  health  and  the  Grand-duke's  too  ! " 

Then  there  was  a  quick  filling  of  glasses ;  a  general  upris- 
ing ;  cries  of  "  Hempel !  Hempel !  "  "  The  Duke  !  "  followed 
by  a  resounding  chorus — 

"  Hoch  sollen  sie  leben  I 
Hoch  sollen  sie  leben  ! 
Dreimal  hoch  !  " — 

that  echoed  away  down  the  empty  hall.  Then  the  tumult 
subsided^  and  the  president,  rising,  said  gravely, 

"  I  now  call  on  our  good  friend  Hempel  to  reply  to  the  toast, 
and  to  give  us  a  few  remarks  on  the  condition  of  art  in  the 

Grand  Duchy  of ,  with  some  observations  and  reflections 

on  the  altered  position  of  the  Duchy  since  the  unification  of 
our  Fatherland." 

In  answer  to  this  summons  there  rose  to  his  feet  a  short 
old  gentleman,  with  a  remarkably  fresh  complexion,  silvery- 
white  hair,  and  merry  blue  eyes'  that  peered  through  gold- 
rimmed  spectacles.  He  was  all  smiles  and  blushes  ;  and  the 
longer  they  cheered  the  more  did  he  smile  and  blush. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said;  and  this  was  the  signal  for  further 
cheering;  "Gentlemen,"  said  the  blushing  orator,  at  length, 
"  our  friend  is  at  his  old  tricks.  I  cannot  make  a  speech  to 
you — except  this :  I  ask  you  to  drink  a  glass  of  champagne 
with  me.  Kellner — Champagner !  " 

And  he  incontinently  dropped  into  his  seat  again,  having  for- 
gotten altogether  to  acknowledge  the  compliment  paid  to  him- 
self and  the  Grand-duke. 

However,  this  was  like  the  letting  in  of  water  ;  for  no 


304  SUNRISE. 

sooner  had  the  two  or  three  bottles  ordered  by  Herr  Hempel 
been  exhausted  than  one  after  another  of  his  companions 
seemed  to  consider  it  was  their  turn  now,  and  loud-shouted 
orders  were  continually  being  administered  to  the  busy  waiter. 
Wine  flowed  and  sparkled ;  cigars  were  freely  exchanged  ;  the 
volume  of  conversation  rose  in  tone,  for  all  were  speaking  at 
once  ;  the  din  became  fast  and  furious. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  Reitzei  alone  sat  apart  and  silent. 
Ever  since  coming  into  the  room  the  attention  of  Beratinsky 
had  been  monopolized  by  his  neighbor,  who  had  just  come 
back  from  a  great  artistic  fete  in  some  German  town,  and  who, 
dressed  as  the  Emperor  Barbarossa,  and  followed  by  his 
knights,  had  ridden  up  the  big  staircase  into  the  Town-hall. 
The  festivities  had  lasted  for  a  fortnight ;  the  Staatsweinkeller 
had  furnished  liberal  supplies  ;  the  Princess  Aclelheid  had 
been  present  at  the  crowning  ceremony.  Then  he  had  brought 
with  him  sketches  of  the  various  costumes,  and  so  forth. 
Perhaps  it  was  inadvertently  that  Beratinsky  so  grossly 
neglected  his  guest. 

The  susceptible  vanity  of  Reitzei  had  been  deeply  wounded 
before  he  entered,  but  now  the  cup  of  his  wrath  was  filled  to 
overflowing.  The  more  champagne  he  drank — and  there  was 
plenty  coming  and  going — the  more  sullen  he  became.  For 
the  rest,  he  had  forgotten  the  circumstance  that  he  had  already 
drunk  two  glasses  of  brandy  before  his  arrival,  and  that  he 
had  eaten  nothing  since  mid-day. 

At  length  Beratinsky  turned  to  him. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cigar,  Reitzei  ?  " 

Reitzei's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse  to  speak  ;  but  his 
wrongs  forced  him.  He  said,  coldly, 

"No,  thanks;  I  have  already  been  offered  a  cigar  by  the 
gentleman  next  me.  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  tell  me  how 
one,  being  sober,  had  any  need  to  pretend  to  be  sober  ? " 

Beratinsky  stared  at  him. 

"  Oh,  you  are  thinking  about  that  yet,  are  you  ?  "  he  said, 
indifferently  ;  and  at  this  moment,  as  his  neighbor  called  his 
attention  to  some  further  sketches,  he  again  turned  away. 

But  now  the  souls  of  the  sons  of  the  Fatherland,  warmed 
with  wine,  began  to  think  of  home  and  love  and  patriotism, 
and  longed  for  some  more  melodious  utterances  than  this 
continuous  guttural  clatter.  Silence  was  commanded.  A 
handsome  young  fellow,  slim  and  dark,  clearly  a  Jew,  ascended 
the  platform,  and  sat  clown  at  the  piano  ;  the  bashful  Hempel, 
still  blushing  a;id  laughing,  was  induced  to  follow ;  together 
they  sung,  amidst  comparative  silence,  a  duet  of  Mendels- 


A  QUARK  EL.  305 

sohn's,  set  for  tenor  and  barytone,  and  sung  it  very  well  indeed. 
There  was  great  applause,  but  Hempel  insisted  on  retiring. 
Left  to  himself,  the  young  man  with  the  handsome  profile  and 
the  finely-set  head  played  a  few  bars  of  prelude,  and  then,  in 
a  remarkably  clear  and  resonant  voice,  sung  Braga's  mystical 
and  tender  serenade,  the  " Legende  Valaque"  amidst  a  silence 
now  quite  secured.  But  what  was  this  one  voice  or  that  to 
all  the  passion  of  music  demanding  utterance?  Soon  there 
was  a  call  to  the  young  gentleman  to  play  an  accompaniment ; 
and  a  huge  black-a-vised  Hessian,  still  sitting  at  the  table, 
held  up  his  brimming  glass,  and  began,  in  a  voice  like  a 
hundred  kettle-drums, 

"  Ich  nehm'  mein  Glaschen  in  die  Hand  :  " 

then  came  the  universal  shout  of  the  chorus,  ringing  to  the  roof, 

• 
"  Vive  la  Compagneia  !  " 

Again  the  raucous  voice  bawled  aloud, 

"  Und  fahr'  damit  in's  Unterland  :  " 

and  again  the  thunder  of  the  chorus,  this  time  prolonged, 
with  much  beating  of  time  on  the  table,  and  jangling  of 
wine-glasses, 

"  Vive  la  Compagneia ! 

Vive  la,  vive  la,  vive  la,  va  !  vive  la,  vive  la,  hopsasa  ! 
Vive  la  Compagneia  !  " 

And  so  on  to  the  end,  the  chorus  becoming  stormier  and 
more  thunderous  than  ever ;  then,  when  peace  had  been  re- 
stored, there  was  a  general  rising,  though  here  and  there  a 
final  glass  was  drunk  with  "  stosst  an  !  setztan  !  fertig  !  los  !  " 
and  its  attendant  ceremonies.  The  meeting  had  broken  up 
by  common  consent ;  there  was  a  shuffling  of  footsteps,  and 
some  disjointed  talking  and  calling  down  the  empty  hall, 
were  the  lights  were  already  being  put  out. 

Reitzei  had  set  silent  during  all  this  chorus-singing,  though 
ordinarily,  being  an  excitable  person,  and  indeed  rather 
proud  of  his  voice,  he  was  ready  to  roar  with  any  one  ;  and 
in  silence,  too,  he  walked  away  with  Beratinsky,  who  either 
was  or  appeared  to  be  quite  unconscious  of  his  companion's 
state  of  mind.  At  length  Reitzei  stopped  short — Oxford 
Street  at  this  time  of  the  morning  was  perfectly  silent — and 
said, 

"  Beratinsky,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 


306  SUNRISE. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  other,  though  he  seemed  sur- 
prised. 

"  I  may  tell  you  your  manners  are  none  of  the  best." 

Beratinsky  looked  at  him. 

"  Nor  your  temper,"  said  he,  "  one  would  think.  Do  you 
still  go  back  to  what  I  said  about  your  piece  of  acting  ? 
You  are  a  child,  Reitzei." 

"  I  do  not  care  about  that,"  said  Reitzei,  contemptuously, 
though  he  was  not  speaking  the  truth  :  his  self-satisfaction 
had  been  grievously  hurt.  "  You  put  too  great  a  value  on 
your  opinion,  Beratinsky  ;  it  is  not  everything  that  you  know 
about :  we  will  let  that  pass.  But  when  one  goes  into  a 
society  as  a  guest,  one  expects  to  be  treated  as  a  guest.  No 
matter ;  I  was  among  my  own  countrymen  :  I  was  well 
enough  entertained." 

"  It  appears  so,"  said  Beratinsky,  with  a  sneer;  "  I  should 
say  too  well.  My  dear  friend  Reitzei,  I  am  afraid  you  have 
been  having  a  little  too  much  champagne." 

"  It  was  none  that  you  paid  for,  at  all  events,"  was  the 
quick  retort.  "No  matter;  I  was  among  my  own  country- 
men :  they  are  civil ;  they  are  not  niggardly." 

"  They  can  afford  to  spend,"  said  the  other,  laughing  sar- 
donically, "  out  of  the  plunder  they  take  from  others." 

"  They  have  fought  for  what  they  have,"  the  other  said, 
hotly.  "  Your  countrymen — what  have  they  ever  done  ? 
Have  they  fought?  No  ;  they  have  conspired,  and  then  run 
away." 

But  Beratinsky  was  much  too  cool-blooded  a  man  to  get 
into  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  ;  besides,  he  noticed  that  Reitzei's 
speech  was  occasionally  a  little  thick. 

"  I  would  advise  you  to  go  home  and  get  to  bed,  friend 
Reitzei,"  said  he. 

"  Not  until  I  have  said  something  to  you,  Mr  Beratinsky," 
said  the  other  with  mock  politeness.  "  I  have  this  to  say, 
that  your  ways  of  late  have  been  a  little  too  uncivil ;  you 
have  been  just  rather  too  insolent,  my  good  friend.  Now  I 
tell  you  frankly  it  does  not  do  for  one  in  your  position  to  be 
uncivil  and  to  make  enemies." 

"  For  one  in  my  position  !  "  Beratinsky  repeated,  in  a  tone 
of  raillery. 

"  You  think  it  is  a  joke,  then,  what  happened  to-night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  you  mean  ;  but  if  that  is  my  position, 
what  other  is  yours,  friend  Reitzei  ?  " 

'*  You  pretend  not  to  know.  I  will  tell  you  :  that  was  got 
up  between  you  and  Lind ;  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 


A  QUARREL.  307 

"  HO  !   ho  I  " 

"  You  may  laugh ;  but  take  care  you  do  not  laugh  the 
other  way,"  said  the  younger  man,  who  had  worked  himself 
into  a  fury,  and  was  all  the  madder  on  account  of  the  cynical 
indifference  of  his  antagonist.  "  I  tell  you  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it ;  it  was  your  scheme  and  Lind's  ;  I  did  as  I  was 
bid.  I  tell  you  I  could  make  this  very  plain  if — " 

He  hesitated. 

"  Well — if  what  ?  "  Beratinsky  said,  calmly. 

"  You  know  very  well.  I  say  you  are  not  in  a  position  to 
insult  people  and  make  enemies.  You  are  a  very  clever  man 
in  your  own  estimation,  my  friend  Beratinsky  ;  but  I  would 
give  you  the  advice  to  be  a  little  more  civil." 

Beratinsky  regarded  him  for  a  second  in  silence. 

"  I  scarcely  know  whether  it  is  worth  while  to  point  out 
certain  things  to  you,  friend  Reitzei,  or  whether  to  leave  you 
to  go  home  and  sleep  off  your  anger." 

"  My  anger,  as  you  call  it,  is  not  a  thing  of  the  moment. 
Oh,  I  assure  you  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  champagne  I 
have  just  drunk,  and  which  was  not  paid  for  by  you,  thank 
God  !  No  ;  my  anger — my  wish  to  have  you  alter  your  man- 
ner a  little — has  been  growing  for  some  time  ;  but  it  is  of  late, 
my  dear  Beratinsky,  that  you  have  become  more  unbearable 
than  ever." 

"  Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  Reitzei ;  I  at  least  am  not 
going  to  stand  in  the  streets  talking  nonsense  at  two  in  the 
morning.  Good-night !  " 

He  stepped  from  the  pavement  on  to  the  street,  to  cross. 

"  Stop !  "  said  Reitzei,    seizing  his  arm  with  both  hands. 

Beratinsky  shook  him  off  violently,  and  turned.  There 
might  have  been  a  blow ;  but  Reitzei,  who  was  a  -coward, 
shrunk  back. 

Beratinsky  advanced. 

"  Look  here,  Reitzei,"  he  said,  in  a  low  vi)ice,  "  I  think 
you  are  sober  enough  to  understand  this.  You  were  throw- 
ing out  vague  threats  about  what  you  might  do  or  might  not 
do  ;  that  means  that  you  think  you  could  go  and  tell  some- 
thing about  the  proceedings  of  to-night :  you  are  a  fool  !  " 

"Very  well — very  well." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  remember,  for  example,  Clause  I., 
the  very  first  clause  in  the  Obligations  binding  on  Officers  of 
the  Second  Degree;  you  do  not  remember  that,  perhaps?  " 
H  3  was  now  talking  in  a  quietly  contemptuous  way ;  the  lit- 
tle spasm  of  anger  that  had  disturbed  him  when  Reitzei  put 
his  hands  on  his  arm  had  immediately  passed  away.  "  The 


308  SUNRISE. 

punishment  for  any  one  revealing,  for  any  reason  or  purpose 
whatever,  what  has  been  done,  or  is  about  to  be  done  by 
orders  of  the  Council,  or  by  any  one  acting  under  these 
orders — you  remember  the  rest,  my  friend  ? — the  punishment 
is  death  !  My  good  Reitzei,  do  not  deprive  me  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  companionship  ;  and  do  not  imagine  that  you  can 
force  people  to  be  polite  to  you  by  threats ;  that  is  not  the 
way  at  all.  Go  home  and  sleep  away  your  anger ;  and  do 
not  imagine  that  you  have  any  advantage  in  your  position,  or 
that  you  are  less  responsible  for  what  has  been  done  than 
any  one." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Reitzei,  sullenly. 

"  In  the  morning  you  will  be  sure,"  said  the  other,  compas- 
sionately, as  if  he  were  talking  to  a  child. 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Come,  friend  Reitzei,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  pitying  kind- 
ness, "you  will  find  in  the  morning  it  will  be  all  right. 
What  happened  to-night  was  well  arranged,  and  well  executed  ; 
everybody  must  be  satisfied.  And  if  you  were  a  little  too  ex- 
uberant in  your  protestations,  a  little  too  anxious  to  accept 
the  work  yourself,  and  rather  too  demonstrative  with  your 
tremblings  and  your  professions  of  courage  and  your  clutch- 
ing at  the  bottle  :  what  then  ?  Every  one  is  not  a  born  actor. 
Every  one  must  make  a  mistake  sometimes.  But  you  won't 
take  my  hand  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Beratinsky,"  said  the  other,  with  profound  sar- 
casm, "  how  could  you  expect  it  ?  Take  the  hand  of  one  so 
wise  as  you,  so  great  as  you,  such  a  logician  as  you  are  ?  It 
would  be  too  much  honor  ;  but  if  you  will  allow  me  I  will  bid 
you  good-night." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  left.  Beratinsky  stood  for  a 
moment  or  so  looking  after  him  ;  then  he  burst  into  a  fit  of 
laughter  that  sounded  along  the  empty  street.  Reitzei  heard 
the  laughing  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

TWICE-TOLD    TALE. 

WHEN  the  door  had  closed  on  George  Brand,  Natalie 
stood  for  a  second  or  two  uncertain,  to  collect  her  bewild- 
ered thoughts.  She  heard  his  footsteps  growing  fainter  and 
fainter ;  the  world  seemed  to  sway  around  her ;  life  itself  to 

\ 


A   TWICE-TOLD  TALE.  309 

be  slipping  away.  Then  suddenly  she  turned,  and  seized  her 
mother  by  both  her  hands. 

"  Child,  child,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  the  mother  cried, 
terrified  by  the  piteous  eyes  and  white  lips. 

"  Ah,  you  could  not  have  guessed,"  the  girl  said,  wildly, 
"you  could  not  have  guessed  from  his  manner  what  he  has  told 
me,  could  you  ?  He  is  not  one  to  say  much  ;  he  is  not  one 
to  complain.  But  he  is  about  to  lose  his  life,  mother — to 
lose  his  life  !  and  it  is  I  who  have  led  him  to  this ;  it  is  I 
who  have  killed  him  !  " 

"  Natalie,"  the  mother  exclaimed,  turning  rather  pale, 
"  you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying." 

"  But  it  is  true  ;  do  not  you  understand,  mother  ?  "  the  girl 
said,  despairingly.  "The  Society  has  given  him  some  duty 
to  do — now,  at  once — and  it  will  cost  him  his  life.  Oh,  do 
you  think  he  complains  ? — no,  he  is  not  one  to  complain. 
He  says  it  is  nothing ;  he  has  pledged  himself ;  he  will  obey ; 
and  what  is  the  value  of  his  one  single  life  ?  That  is  the 
way  he  talks,  mother.  And  the  parting  between  him  and 
me — that  is  so  near,  so  near  now — what  is  that,  when  there 
are  thousands  and  thousands  of  such  every  time  that  war  is 
declared  ?  I  am  to  make  light  of  it,  mother ;  I  am  to  think 
it  is  nothing  at  all — that  he  should  be  going  away  to  die  \  " 

She  had  been  talking  quite  wildly,  almost  incoherently ; 
she  had  not  observed  that  her  mother  had  grown  paler  than 
ever  ;  nor  had  she  heard  the  half-murmured  exclamation  of 
the  elder  woman, 

"  No,  no — not  the  story  twice  told  ;  he  could  not  do  that !  " 

Then,  with  an  unusual  firmness  and  decision,  she  led  her 
daughter  to  the  easy-chair,  and  made  her  sit  down. 

"  Natalie,"  she  said,  in  earnest  and  grave  tones,  without 
any  excitement  whatever,  "  you  have  told  me  your  father  was 
very  much  against  you  marrying  Mr.  Brand." 

There  was  no  answer.  The  girl  sitting  there  could  only 
think  of  that  terrible  thing  facing  her  in  the  immediate 
future. 

"  Natalie,"  said  her  mother,  firmly,  "  I  wish  you  to  listen. 
You  said  your  father  was  opposed  to  your  marriage — that  he 
would  not  hear  of  it ;  and  you  remember  telling  me  how  Mr. 
Brand  had  refused  to  hand  over  his  property  to  the  Society ; 
and  you  talked  of  going  to  America  if  Mr.  Brand  were  sent  ? 
Natalie,  this  is  your  father's  doing  !  " 

She  looked  up  quickly,  not  understanding.  The  elder 
woman  flushed  slightly,  but  continued  in  clear  and  even  tones. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  Natalushka ;  perhaps  I  should  not 


3  ic  SUNRISE. 

teach  you  to  suspect  your  father.  But  that  is  how  I  see  it — 
this  is  what  I  believe — that  Mr.  Brand,  if  what  you  say  is 
true,  is  to  be  sacrificed,  not  in  the  interests  of  the  Society, 
but  because  your  father  is  determined  to  get  him  out  of  the 
way." 

"  Oh,  mother,  it  is  impossible  !  How  could  any  one  be  so 
cruel  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  strange  if  the  story  were  to  be  twice  told," 
the  mother  said,  absently.  Then  she  took  a  stool  beside  her 
daughter,  and  sat  down  beside  her,  and  took  one  of  her  hands 
in  both  hers.  It  was  a  reversal  of  their  ordinary  position. 

"  Listen,  Natalie  ;  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  story,"  she 
said,  with  a  curious  resignation  and  sadness  in  her  voice. 
"  I  had  thought  it  might  be  unnecessary  to  tell  it  to  you  ; 
when  Mr.  Brand  spoke  of  it,  I  said  no.  But  you  will  judge 
for  yourself,  and  it  will  distract  your  mind  for  a  little.  You 
must  think  of  a  young  girl  something  like  yourself,  Nata- 
lushka ;  not  so  handsome  as  you  are,  but  a  little  pretty,  and 
with  many  friends.  Oh  yes,  many  friends,'  for  at  that  time 
the  family  were  in  very  brilliant  society  and  had  large  es- 
tates :  alas  !  the  estates  were  soon  all  lost  in  politics,  and  all 
that  remained  to  the  family  was  their  name  and  some  tales 
of  what  they  had  done.  Well,  this  young  lady,  among  all 
her  friends,  had  one  or  two  sweethearts,  as  was  natural — for 
there  were  a  great  coining  and  going  then,  before  the  trou- 
bles broke  out,  and  many  visitors  at  the  house — only  every 
one  thought  she  ought  to  marry  her  cousin  Konrad,  for  they 
had  been  brought  up  together,  and  this  cousin  Konrad  was 
a  good-looking  young  man,  and  amiable,  and  her  parents 
would  have  approved.  Are  you  sure  you  are  listening  to  my 
story,  Natalushka  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  mother,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  I  think  I 
understand." 

"  Well,"  continued  the  mother,  with  rather  a  sad  smile, 
"  you  know  a  girl  does  not  always  choose  the,  one  whom  her 
friends  choose  for  her.  Among  the  two  or  three  sweethearts 
— that  is,  those  who  wished  to  be  sweethearts,  do  you  under- 
stand, Natalushka  ? — there  was  one  who  was  more  audacious, 
perhaps,  more  persistent  than  the  others ;  and  then  he  was  a 
man  of  great  ambition,  and  of  strong  political  views ;  and 
the  young  lady  I  was  telling  you  about,  Natalushka,  had  been 
brought  up  to  the  political  atmosphere,  and  had  opinions 
also.  She  believed  this  man  was  capable  of  doing  great 
things ;  and  her  friends  not  objecting,  she,  after  a  few  years 


A   TWICE-TOLD  TALE.  311 

of  waiting,  owing  to  the  troubles  of  political  matters,  mar- 
ried him." 

She  was  silent  for -a  moment  or  two. 

"  Yes,  they  were  married,"  she  continued,  with  a  sigh, 
"  and  for  a  time  every  thing  was  happy,  though  the  political 
affairs  were  so  untoward,  and  cost  much  suffering  and  dan- 
ger. The  young  wife  only  admired  her  husband's  deter- 
mined will,  his  audacity,  his  ambition  after  leadership  and 
power.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  as  time  went  on,  he  be- 
gan to  grow  jealous  of  the  cousin  Konrad  ;  and  Konrad, 
though  he  was  a  light-hearted  young  fellow,  and  meaning  no 
harm  whatever,  resented  being  forbidden  to  see  his  cousin. 
He  refused  to  cease  visiting  the  house,  though  the  young 
wife  begged  him  to  do  so.  He  was  very  proud  and  self- 
willed,  you  must  know,  Natalushka.  Well,  the  husband  did 
not  say  much,  but  he  was  morose,  and  once  or  twice  he  said 
to  his  wife,  '  It  is  not  your  fault  that  your  cousin  is  imperti- 
nent; but  let  him  take  care.'  Then  one  day  an  old  friend 
of  his  wife's  father  came  to  her,  and  said,  *  Do  you  know  what 
has  happened  ?  You  are  not  likely  to  see  your  cousin  Kon- 
rad again.  The  Russian  General ,  whom  we  bribed 

with  twenty-four  thousand  rubles  to  give  us  ten  passports  for 
crossing  the  frontier,  now  refuses  to  give  them,  and  Konrad 
has  been  sent  to  kill  him,  as  a  warning  to  the  others  ;  he 
will  be  taken,  and  hanged.'  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Natalushka, 
that  the  girl  I  am  speaking  of  was  in  all  the  secrets  of  the 
association  which  had  been  started.  You  are  more  fortu- 
nate ;  you  know  nothing." 

The  interest  of  the  listener  had  now  been  thoroughly 
aroused.  She  had  turned  toward  her  mother,  and  had  put 
her  remaining  hand  over  hers. 

"  Well,  this  friend  hinted  something  more  ;  he  hinted  that 
it  was  the  husband  of  this  young  wife  who  had  sent  Konrad 
on  this  mission,  and  that  the  means  employed  had  not  been 
quite  fair." 

"  Mother,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  Natalie  said,  breathlessly. 

"  I  am  telling  you  a  story  that  really  happened,  Nata- 
lushka," said  the  mother,  calmly,  and  with  the  same  pathetic 
touch  in  her  voice.  "  Then  the  young  wife,  without  consid- 
eration— so  anxious  was  she  to  save  the  life  of  her  cousin — 
went  straight  to  the  highest  authorities  of  the  association, 
and  appealed  to  them.  The  influence  of  her  family  aided 
her.  She  was  listened  to  ;  there  was  an  examination  ;  what 
the  friend  had  hinted  was  found  to  be  true  ;  the  commission 
was  annulled ;  Konrad  was  given  his  liberty  !  " 


312  SUMRISE. 


"  Yes,  yes  !  "  said  Natalie,  eagerly. 

"  But  listen,  Natalushka ;  I  said  I  would  tell  you  the 
whole  story ;  it  has  been  kept  from  you  for  many  a  year. 
When  it  was  found  that  the  husband  had  made  use  of  the 
machinery  of  the  association  for  his  own  ends — which,  it  ap- 
pears, was  a  great  crime  in  their  eyes— he  was  degraded,  and  for- 
bidden all  hope  of  joining  the  Council,  the  ruling  body.  He 
was  in  a  terrible  rage,  for  he  was  mad  with  ambition.  He 
drove  the  wife  from  his  house — rather,  he  left  the  house  him- 
self— and  he  took  away  with  him  their  only  child,  a  little  girl 
scarcely  two  years  old ;  and  he  threatened  the  mother  with 
the  most  terrible  penalties  if  ever  again  she  should  speak  to 
her  own  child  !  Natalushka,  do  you  understand  me  ?  Do 
you  wonder  that  my  face  is  worn  with  grief  ?  For  sixteen 
years  that  mother,  who  loved  her  daughter  better  than  any- 
thing in  the  world,  was  not  permitted  to  speak  to  her,  could 
only  regard  her  from  a  distance,  and  not  tell  her  how  she  loved 
her." 

The  girl  uttered  a  cry  of  compassion,  and  wound  her  arms 
round  her  mother's  neck. 

"Oh,  the  cruelty  of  it! — the  cruelty  of  it,  mother  !  But 
why  did  you  not  come  to  me  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  not 
have  left  everything  to  go  with  you — you,  alone  and  suffer- 
ing?" 

For  a  time  the  mother  could  not  answer,  so  deep  were  her 
sobs. 

"  Natalushka,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  no 
fear  of  any  danger  threatening  myself  would  have  kept  me 
from  you ;  be  sure  of  that.  But  there  was  something  else. 
My  father  had  become  compromised — the  Austrians  said  it 
was  assassination ;  it  was  not !  "  For  a  second  some  hot 
blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks.  "  I  say  it  was  a  fair  duel,  and 
your  grandfather  himself  was  nearly  killed  ;  but  he  escaped, 
and  got  into  hiding  among  some  faithful  friends — poor  peo- 
ple, who  had  known  our  famity  in  better  times.  The  Gov- 
ernment did  what  they  could  to  arrest  him  ;  he  was  expressly 
exempted  from  the  amnesty,  this  old  man,  who  was  wounded, 
who  was  incapable  of  movement  almost,  whom  every  one  ex- 
pected to  die  from  day  to  day,  and  a  word  would  have 
betrayed  him  and  destroyed  him.  Can  you  wonder,  Nata- 
lushka, with  that  threat  hanging  over  me — that  menance 
that  the  moment  I  spoke  to  you  meant  that  my  father  would 
be  delivered  to  his  enemies — that  I  said  'No,  not  yet  will  I 
speak  to  my  little  daughter ;  I  cannot  sacrifice  my  father's 
life  even  to  the  affection  of  a  mother !  But  soon,  when  I 


A  TWICE-TOLD  TALE.  313 

have  given  him  such  care  and  solace  as  he  has  the  right  to 
demand  from  me,  then  I  will  ,>et  out  to  see  my  beautiful 
child — not  with  baskets  of  flowers,  haunting  the  door-steps — 
not  with  a  little  trinket,  to  drop  in  her  lap,  and  perhaps  set 
her  mind  thinking — no,  but  with  open  arms  and  open  heart, 
to  see  if  she  is  not  afraid  to  call  me  mother.'  " 

"  Poor  mother,  how  you  must  have  suffered,"  the  girl  mur- 
mured, holding  her  close  to  her  bosom.  "  But  with  your 
powerful  friends — those  to  whom  you  appealed  to  before — 
why  did  you  not  go  to  them,  and  get  safety  from  the  terrible 
threat  hanging  over  you  ?  Could  they  not  protect  him,  my 
grandfather,  as  they  saved  your  cousin  Konrad  ?  " 

"  Alas,  child,  your  grandfather  never  belonged  to  the  asso- 
ciation !  Of  what  use  was  he  to  them — a  sufferer  expecting 
each  day  to  be  his  last,  and  not  daring  to  move  beyond  the 
door  of  the  peasant's  cottage  that  sheltered  him  ?  many  a 
time  he  used  to  say  to  me,  '  Natalie,  go  to  your  child.  I  am 
already  dead  ;  what  matters  it  whether  they  take  me  or  not  ? 
You  have  watched  the  old  tree  fade  leaf  by  leaf ;  it  is  only 
the  stump  that  cumbers  the  ground.  Go  to  your  child ;  if 
they  try  to  drag  me  from  here,  the  first  mile  will  be  the  end ; 
and  what  better  can  one  wish  for  ? '  But  no  ;  I  could  not  do 
that." 

Natalie  had  been  thinking  deeply ;  she  raised  her  head, 
and  regarded  her  mother  with  a  calm,  strange  look. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  I  do  not  think  I  will  ever  en- 
ter my  father's  house  again." 

The  elder  woman  heard  this  declaration  without  either  sur- 
prise or  joy.  She  said,  simply, 

"  Do  not  judge  rashly  or  harshly,  Natalushka.  Why  have 
I  refrained  until  now  from  telling  you  the  story  but  that  I 
thought  it  better — I  thought  you  would  be  happier  if  you 
continued  to  respect  and  love  your  father.  Then  consider 
what  excuses  may  be  made  for  him — " 

"  None  !  "  the  girl  said,  vehemently.  "  To  keep  you  suffer- 
ing for  sixteen  years  away  from  your  only  child,  and  with  the 
knowledge  that  at  any  moment  a  word  on  his  part  might  lead 
out  your  father  to  a  cruel  death— oh,  mother  mother,  you 
may  ask  me  to  forgive,  but  not  to  excuse  !  " 

"  Ambition — the  desire  for  influence  and  leadership — is  his 
very  life,"  the  mother  said,  calmly.  "  He  cares  more  for  that 
than  anything  in  the  world — wife,  child,  anything,  he  would 
sacrifice  to  it.  But  now,  child,"  she  said,  with  a  concerned 
look,  "  can  you  understand  why  I  have  told  you  the  story  ? " 

Natalie  looked  up  bewildered.     For  a  time  the  interest  of 


314  SUNRISE. 

this  story,  intense  as  it  had  been  to  her,  had  distracted  her 
mind  from  her  own  troubles ;  though  all  through  she  been 
conscious  of  some  impending  gloom  that  seemed  to  darken 
the  life  around  her. 

"  It  was  not  merely  to  tell  you  of  my  sufferings,  Nata- 
lushka,"  the  mother  said  at  once,  gently  and  anxiously; 
"  they  are  over.  I  am  happy  to  be  beside  you ;  if  you  are 
happy.  But  when  a  little  time  ago  you  told  me  of  Mr.  Brand 
being  ordered  away  to  this  duty,  and  of  the  fate  likely  to  be- 
fall him,  I  said  to  myself,  *  Ah,  no ;  surely  it  cannot  be  the 
story  told  twice  over.  He  would  not  dare  to  do  that  again.'  " 

The  girl  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  My  child,  that  is  why  I  asked  you.  Mr.  Brand  disap- 
pointed your  father,  I  can  see,  about  the  money  affair.  Then, 
when  he  might  have  been  got  out  of  the  way  by  being  sent 
to  America,  you  make  matters  worse  than  ever  by  threaten- 
ing to  go  with  him." 

The  girl  did  not  speak,  but  her  eyes  were  terrified. 

*l  Natalie,"  the  mother  said  gently,  "have  I  done  wrong  to 
put  these  suspicions  into  your  mind  ?  Have  I  done  wrong  to 
put  you  into  antagonism  with  your  father  ?  My  child  I  can- 
not see  you  suffer  without  revealing  to  you  what  I  imagine 
may  be  the  cause — even  if  it  were  impossible  to  fight  against 
it — even  if  one  can  only  shudder  at  the  cruelty  of  which  some 
are  capable  :  we  can  pray  God  to  give  us  resignation." 

Natalie  Lind  was  not  listening  at  all ;  her  face  was  white, 
her  lips  firm,  her  eyes  fixed. 

"  Mother,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  low  voice,  and  speaking 
as  if  she  were  weighing  each  word,  "  if  you  think  the  story  is 
being  told  again,  why  should  it  not  be  carried  out  ?  You  ap- 
pealed, to  save  the  life  of  one  who  loved  you.  And  I — why 
may  not  I  also  ?  " 

"  Oh,  child,  child  !  "  the  mother  cried  in  terror,  laying  hold 
of  her  arm.  "  Do  not  think  of  it :  anything  but  that !  You  do 
not  know  how  terrible  your  father  is  when  his  anger  is  aroused  : 
look  at  what  I  have  suffered.  Natalushka,  I  will  not  have  you 
lead  the  life  that  I  have  led ;  you  must  not,  you  dare  not,  in- 
terfere ! " 

The  girl  put  her  hand  aside,  and  sprung  to  her  feet.  No 
longer  was  she  white  of  face.  The  blood  of  the  Berezolyis 
was  in  her  cheeks;  her  eyes  were  dilated;  her  voice  was 
proud  and  indignant. 

"And  I,"  she  said,  "if  this  is  true — if  this  is  possible — 
Oh,  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  see  a  brave  man  sent  to  his 
death,  shamelessly,  cruelly,  and  not  do  what  I  can  to  save 


A   TWICE-TOLD  TALE.  315 

him  ?  It  is  not  for  you,  mother,  it  is  not  for  one  who  bears 
the  name  that  you  bear  to  tell  me  to  be  afraid.  What  I  did 
fear  was  to  live,  with  him  dead.  Now — " 

The  mother  had  risen  quickly  to  her  feet  also,  and  sought 
to  hold  her  daughter's  hands. 

"  For  the  sake  of  Heaven,  Natalushka ! "  she  pleaded. 
*'  You  are  running  into  a  terrible  danger — " 

"  Do  I  care,  mother  ?  Do  I  look  as  if  I  cared  ? "  she  said, 
proudly. 

"  And  for  no  purpose,  Natalushka ;  you  will  only  bring 
down  on  yourself  the  fury  of  your  father,  and  he  will  make 
your  life  as  miserable  as  he  has  made  mine.  And  what  can 
you  do,  child  ?  what  can  you  do  but  bring  ruin  on  yourself  ? 
You  are  powerless :  you  have  no  influence  with  those  in  au- 
thority as  I  at  one  time  had.  You  do  not  know  them :  how 
can  you  reach  them  ?  " 

"  You  forget,  mother,"  the  girl  said,  triumphantly ;  "was  it 
not  you  yourself  who  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  heard  of  one 
Bartolotti  ? " 

The  mother  uttered  a  slight  cry  of  alarm. 

"  No,  no,  Natalushka,  I  beg  of  you — " 

The  girl  took  her  mother  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her. 
There  was  a  strange  joy  in  her  face  ;  the  eyes  were  no  longer 
haggard,  but  full  of  light  and  hope. 

"  You  dear  mother,"  she  said,  as  she  gently  compelled  her 
to  be  seated  again,  "  that  is  the  place  for  you.  You  will  re- 
main here,  quiet,  undisturbed. by  any  fears;  no  one  shall 
molest  you ;  and  when  you  have  quite  recovered  from  all 
your  sufferings,  and  when  your  courage  has  returned  to  you, 
then  I  will  come  back  and  tell  you  my  story.  It  is  story  for 
story,  is  it  not  ?  " 

She  rung  the  bell. 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  mother ;  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
For  once  I  return  to  my  father's  house — yes,  there  is  a  card 
there  that  I  must  have — " 

"  But  afterward,  child,  where  do  you  go  ? "  the  mother  said, 
though  she  could  scarcely  find  utterance. 

"  Why,  to  Naples,  mother ;  I  am  an  experienced  traveller ; 
I  shall  need  no  courier." 

The  blood  had  mounted  into  both  cheek  and  forehead; 
her  eyes  were  full  of  life  and  pride ;  even  at  such  a  moment 
the  anxious,  frightened  mother  was  forced  to  think  she  had 
never  seen  her  daughter  look  so  beautiful. 

The  door  opened. 

"  Madame,  be  so  good  as  to  tell  Anneli  that  I  am  ready." 


316  SUNRISE. 

She  turned  to  her  mother. 

"  Now,  mother,  it  is  good-bye  for  I  do  not  know  how  long." 

"  Oh  no,  it  is  not,  child,"  said  the  other,  trembling,  and  yet 
smiling  in  spite  of  all  her  fears.  "  If  you  are  going  to  travel, 
you  must  have  a  courier.  I  will  be  your  courier,  Natalushka." 

"  Will  you  come  with  me,  mother  ? "  she  cried,  with  a 
happy  light  leaping  to  her  eyes.  "  Come,  then — we  will  give 
courage  to  each  other,  you  and  I,  shall  we  not  ?  Ah,  dear 
mother,  you  have  told  me  your  story  only  in  time ;  but  we 
will  go  quickly  now — you  and  I  together  1 " 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

SOUTHWARD. 

AFTER  so  much  violent  emotion  the  rapid  and  eager  prep- 
arations for  travel  proved  a  useful  distraction.  There  was 
no  time  to  lose ;  and  Natalie  very  speedily  found  that  it  was 
she  herself  who  must  undertake  the  duties  of  a  courier,  her 
mother  being  far  too  anxious  and  alarmed.  Once  or  twice, 
indeed,  the  girl,  regarding  the  worn,  sad  face,  almost  re- 
pented of  having  accepted  that  impulsive  offer,  and  would 
have  proposed  to  start  alone.  But  she  knew  that,  left  in  sol- 
itude, the  poor  distressed  mother  would  only  torture  herself 
with  imaginary  fears.  As  for  herself,  she  had  no  fear ;  her 
heart  was  too  full  to  have  any  room  for  fear.  And  yet  her 
hand  trembled  a  little  as  she  sat  down  to  write  these  two 
messages  of  farewell.  The  first  ran  thus : 

"  MY  FATHER, — To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  heard  my 
mother's  story  from  herself.  I  have  looked  into  her  eyes  ;  I 
know  she  speaks  the  truth.  You  will  not  wonder  then  that  I 
leave  your  house — that  I  go  with  her ;  there  must  be  some 
one  to  try  to  console  her  for  all  she  has  suffered,  and  I  am 
her  daughter.  I  thank  you  for  many  years  of  kindness,  and 
pray  God  to  bless  you.  NATALIE." 

The  next  was  easier  to  write. 

"  DEAREST, — My  mother  and  I  leave  England  to-night. 
Do  not  ask  why  we  go,  or  why  I  have  not  sent  for  you  to 
come  and  say  good-bye.  We  shall  be  away  perhaps  only  a 


SOUTHWARD.  317 

few  days  ;   in  any  case  yon  must  not  go  until  we- Return.     Do 
not  forget  that  I  must  see  you  again.  NATALIE." 

She  felt  happier  when  she  had  written  these  two  notes. 
She  rose  from  the  table  and  went  over  to  her  mother. 

"Now,  mother,  tell  me  how  much  money  you  have,"  she 
said,  with  a  highly  practical  air.  "  What,  have  I  startled  you, 
poor  little  mother  ?  I  believe  your  head  is  full  of  all  kinds 
of  strange  forebodings ;  and  yet  they  used  to  say  that  the 
Berezolyis  were  all  of  them  very  courageous." 

"  Natalushka,  you  do  not  know  what  danger  you  are  rush- 
ing into,"  the  mother  said,  absently. 

"  I  again  ask  you,  mother,  a  simple  question  :  how  much 
money  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  have  thirty  pounds  or  thereabout,  Natalie  ;  that  is 
mv  capital,  as  it  were  ;  but  next  month  my  cousins  will  send 
me—" 

"  Never  mind  about  next  month,  mother  dear.  You  must 
let  me  rob  you  of  all  your  thirty  pounds  ;  and,  just  to  make 
sure,  I  will  go  and  borrow  ten  pounds  more  from  Madame 
Potecki.  Madame  is  not  so  very  poor ;  she  has  savings ;  she 
would  give  me  every  farthing  if  I  asked  her.  And  do  you 
.think,  little  mother,  if  we  come  back  successful — do  you  think 
there  will  be  a  great  difficulty  about  paying  back  the  loan  to 
Madame  Potecki  ?  " 

She  was  quite  gay,  to  give  her  mother  courage  ;  and  she  re- 
fused to  leave  her  alone,  a  prey  to  these  gloomy  forebodings. 
She  carried  her  off  with  her  in  the  cab  to  Curzon  Street,  and 
left  her  in  the  cab  while  she  entered  the  house  with  Anneli. 
Anneli  cried  a  little  when  she  was  receiving  her  mistress's 
last  instructions. 

"  Am  I  never  to  see  you  again,  Fraulein  ? "  she  sobbed. 
"  Are  you  never  coming  back  to  the  house  any  more  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  will  see  me  again,  you  foolish  girl,  even  if 
I  do  not  come  back  here.  Now  you  will  be  careful,  Anneli, 
to  have  the  wine  a  little  warmed  before  dinner,  and  see  that 
your  master's  slippers  are  in  the  study  by  the  fire ;  and  the 
coffee — you  must  make  the  coffee  yourself,  Anneli — 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed,  Fraulein,  I  will  make  the  coffee,"  said 
Anneli,  with  a  fresh  flowing  of  tears.  "  But — but  may  not  I 
go  with  you,  Fraulein  ? — if  you  are  not  coming  back  here  any 
more,  why  may  I  not  go  with  you?  I  am  not  anxious  for 
wages,  Fraulein — I  do  not  want  any  wages  at  all ;  but  if  you 
will  take  me  with  you — " 

"  Now,  do  not  be  foolish,  Anneli.     Have  you  not  a  whole 


house  to  look  after  ?  There,  take  these  keys  ;  you  will  have 
to  show  that  you  can  be  a  good  house-mistress,  and  sensible, 
and  not  childish." 

At  the  door  she  shook  hands  with  the  sobbing  maid,  and 
bade  her  a  cheerful  good-bye.  Then  she  got  into'the  cab  and 
drove  away  to  Madame  Potecki's  lodgings.  Finally,  by  dex- 
terous management,  she  succeeded  in  getting  her  mother  and 
herself  to  Charing  Cross  Station  in  time  to  catch  the  after- 
noon express  to  Dover. 

It  is  probable  that,  now  the  first  excitement  of  setting  out 
was  over,  and  the  two  women-folk  left  to  themselves  in  the 
solitude  of  a  compartment,  Natalie  might  have  begun  to  re- 
flect with  some  tremor  of  the  heart  on  the  very  vagueness  of 
the  task  she  had  undertaken.  But  she  was  not  permitted  to 
do  so.  The  necessity  of  driving  away  her  mother's  forebod- 
ings prevented  her  indulging  in  any  of  her  own.  She  was 
forced  to  be  careless,  cheerful,  matter-of-fact. 

"  Natalushka,"  the  mother  said,  holding  her  daughter's 
hand,  "  you  have  been  brought  up  in  ignorance.  You  know 
only  the  romantic,  the  beautiful  side  of  what  is  going  on  ;  you 
do  not  know  what  these  men  are  ready  to  do — what  has  been 
done — to  secure  the  success  of  their  schemes.  And  for  you, 
a  girl,  to  interfere,  it  is  madness,  Natalushka.  They  will 
laugh  at  you,  perhaps ;  perhaps  it  may  be  worse  ;  they  may 
resent  your  interference,  and  ask  who  has  betrayed  their 
secrets." 

"  Are  they  so  very  terrible,  then  ? "  said  the  girl,  with  a 
smile,  "  when  Lord  Evelyn — ah,  you  do  not  know  him  yet, 
mother;  but  he  is  as  gentle  as  a  woman — when  he  is  their 
friend  ;  and  when  Mr.  Brand  is  full  of  admiration  for  what 
they  are  doing ;  and  when  Calabressa —  Now,  mother,  is 
Calabressa  likely  to  harm  any  one  ?  And  it  was  Calabressa 
himself  who  said  to  me,  '  Little  daughter,  if  ever  you  are  in 
great  trouble,  ^o  to  Naples.  You  will  find  friends  there.' 
No,  mother,  it  is  no  use  your  trying  to  frighten  me.  No  ;  let 
us  talk  about  something  sensible  ;  for  example,  which  way  is 
the  wind  ?  " 
'"  How  can  I  tell,  Natalushka  ?  " 

The  girl  laughed — rather  a  forced  laugh,  perhaps  ;  she 
could  not  altogether  shake  off  the  consciousness  of  the 
peril  that  surrounded  her  lover. 

"  Why,  mother,  you  are  a  pretty  courier !  You  are  about 
to  cross  the  Channel,  and  you  do  not  know  which  way  the 
wind  is,  or  whether  the  sea  is  rough,  or  anything.  Now  I 
will  tell  von ;  it  is  I  who  am  the  courier.  The  wind  is  north- 


SOUTHWARD.  319 

east ;  the  sea  was  quite  smooth  yesterday  evening ;  I  think  we 
shall  have  a  comfortable  passage.  And  do  you  know  why  I 
have  brought  you  away  by  this  train  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
I  shall  get  you  down  to  Dover  in  time  to  give  you  something 
nice  for  dinner ;  then,  if  the  sea  is  quite  smooth,  we  go  on 
board  before  the  people  come  ;  then  we  cross  over  to  Calais 
and  go  to  a  hotel  there  ;  then  you  get  a  good,  long,  sound 
sleep,  you  little  mother,  and  the  next  day — that  is  to-morrow 
— about  noon,  I  think,  we  go  easily  on  to  Paris.  What  do 
you  think  of  that,  now  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  do  will  be  right,  Natalushka ;  you  know  I 
have  never  before  had  a  daughter  to  look  after  me." 

Natalie's  programme  was  fulfilled  to  the  letter,  and  with 
good  fortune.  They  dined  in  the  hotel,  had  some  tea,  and 
then  went  down  through  the  dark  clear  night  to  the  packet. 
The  sea  was  like  a  mill-pond  ;  there  was  just  sufficient  motion 
of  the  water  to  make  the  reflections  of  the  stars  quiver  in  the 
dark.  The  two  women  sat  together  on  deck  ;  and  as  the 
steamer  gradually  took  them  away  from  the  lights  of  the 
English  coast,  Natalie  sung  to  her  mother,  in  a  low  voice, 
some  verses  of  an  old  Magyar  song,  which  were  scarcely 
audible  amidst  the  rush  of  water  and  the  throbbing  of  the 
paddles. 

Next  day  the  long  and  tedious  railway  journey  began  ;  and 
here  again  Natalie  acted  as  the  most  indefatigable  and  accom- 
plished of  couriers. 

"How  do  you  manage  it,  Natalushka  ?"  said  the  mother, 
as  she  got  into  the  coupe,  to  this  tall  and  handsome  young 
lady  who  was  standing  outside,  and  on  whom  everybody 
seemed  to  wait.  "  You  get  everything  you  want,  and  without 
trouble." 

"  It  is  only  practice,  with  a  little  patience,"  she  said,  simply, 
as  she  opened  her  flask  of  white-rose  scent  and  handed  it  up 
to  her  mother. 

Necessarily,  it  was  rail  all  the  way  for  these  two  travellers. 
Not  for  them  the  joyous  assembling  on  the  Mediterranean 
shore,  where  Nice  lies  basking  in  the  sun  like  a  pink  surf 
thrown  up  by  the  waves.  Not  for  them  the  packing  of  the 
great  carriage,  and  the  swinging  away  of  the  four  horses  with 
their  jingling  bells,  and  the  slow  climbing  of  the  Cornice,  the 
road  twisting  up  the  face  of  the  gray  mountains,  through  per- 
petual lemon-groves,  with  far  below  the  ribbed  blue  sea.  Not 
for  them  the  leisurely  trotting  all  day  long  through  the  luxuri- 
ant beauty  of  the  Riviera — the  sun  hot  on  the  ruddy  cliffs  of 
granite,  and  on  the  terraces  of  figs  and  vines  and  spreading 


320  SUNRISE. 

palms  ;  nor  the  rattling  through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old 
walled  towns,  with  the  scarlet-capped  men  and  swarthy-vis- 
aged  women  shrinking  into  the  door-ways  as  the  horses  clat- 
ter by ;  nor  the  quiet  evenings  in  the  hotel  garden,  with  the 
moon  rising  over  the  murmuring  sea,  and  the  air  sweet  with  the 
perfumes  of  the  south.  No.  They  climbed  a  mountain,  it  is 
true,  but  it  was  behind  an  engine  ;  they  beheld  the  Mont  Cenis 
snows,  but  it  was  from  the  window  of  a  railway-carriage.  Then 
they  passed  through  the  black,  resounding  tunnel,  with,  after  a 
time,  its  sudden  glares  of  light ;  finally  the  world  seemed  to 
open  around  them  ;  they  looked  down  upon  Italy. 

"  Many  a  one  has  died  for  you,  and  been  glad,"  said  the 
girl,  almost  to  herself,  as  she  gazed  abroad  on  the  great  val- 
leys, with  here  and  there  a  peak  crowned  with  a  castle  or  a 
convent,  with  the  vine-terraced  hills  showing  now  and  again 
a  few  white  dots  of  houses,  and  beyond  and  above  all  these 
the  far  blue  mountains,  with  their  sharp  line  of  snow. 

Then  they  descended,  and  passed  through  the  luxuriant 
yellow  plains — the  sunset  blazing  on  the  rows  of  willows  and 
on  the  square  farm-houses  with  their  gaudy  picture  over  the 
arched  gateway;  while  always  in  the  background  rose  the 
dark  masses  of  the  mountains,  solemn  and  distant,  beyond 
the  golden  glow  of  the  fields.  They  reached  Turin  at  dusk, 
both  of  them  very  tired. 

So  far  scarcely  anything  had  been  said  about  the  object  of 
their  journey,  though  they  could  have  talked  in  safety  even  in 
railway-carriages,  as  they  spoke  to  each  other  in  Magyar.  But 
Natalie  refused  to  listen  to  any  dissuading  •  counsel ;  when 
her  mother  began,  she  would  say,  "Dear  little  mother,  will 
you  have  some  white  rose  for  your  forehead  and  your  fin- 
gers?" 

From  Turin  they  had  to  start  again  early  in  the  morning. 
They  had  by  this  time  grown  quite  accustomed  to  the  plod, 
plodding  of  the  train  ;  it  seemed  almost  one  of  the  normal 
and  necessary  conditions  of  life.  They  went  down  by  Genoa, 
Spezia,  Pisa,  Sienna,  and  Rome,  making  the  shortest  possible 
pauses. 

One  night  the  windows  of  a  sitting-room  in  a  hotel  at  the 
western  end  of  Naples  were  opened,  and  a  young  girl  stepped 
out  on  to  the  high  balcony,  a  light  shawl  thrown  over  her 
head  and  shoulders.  It  was  a  beautiful  night ;  the  air  sweet 
and  still ;  the  moonlight  shining  over  the  scarcely  stirring 
waters  of  the  bay.  Before  her  rose  the  vast  bulk  of  the 
Castello  dell'  Ovo,  a  huge  mass  of  black  shadow  against  the 
silvery  sea  and  the  lambent  sky;  then  far  away  throbbed  the 


THE  BEECHES.  311 

dull  orange  lights  of  the  city  ;  and  beyond  these,  again,  Ve- 
suvius towered  into  the  clear  darkness,  with  a  line  of  sharp, 
intense  crimson  marking  its  summit.  Through  the  perfect 
silence  she  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  oars  of  a  boat,  itself 
unseen  ;  and  over  the  whispering  waters  came  some  faint  and 
distant  refrain,  "  Addio !  addio  /"  At  length  even  these 
sounds  ceased,  and  she  was  alone  in  the  still,  murmuring 
beautiful  night. 

She  looked  across  to  the  great  city.  Who  were  her  un- 
known friends  there  ?  What  mighty  power  was  she  about  to 
invoke  on  the  morrow  ?  There  was  no  need  for  her  to  con- 
sult the  card  that  Calabressa  had  given  her ;  again  and  again,  in 
the  night-time,  when  her  mother  lay  asleep,  she  had  studied  it, 
and  wondered  whether  it  would  prove  the  talisman  the  giver 
had  called  it.  She  looked  at  this  great  city  beside  the  sea, 
and  only  knew  that  it  was  beautiful  in  the  moonlight ;  she 
had  no  fear  of  anything  that  it  contained.  And  then  she 
thought  of  another  city,  far  away  in  the  colder  north,  and  she 
wondered  if  a  certain  window  were  open  there,  overlooking 
the  river  and  the  gas-lamp  and  the  bridges,  and  whether  there 
was  one  there  thinking  of  her.  Could  not  the  night-wind 
carry  the  speech  and  desire  of  her  heart  ? — "  Good-night, 
good-night.  .  .  .  Love  knows  no  fear.  .  .  .  Not  yet  is  our 
life  forever  broken  for  us." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    BEECHES. 

ON  the  same  night  Lord  Evelyn  was  in  Brand's  rooms, 
arguing,  expostulating,  entreating,  all  to  no  purpose.  He  was 
astounded  at  the  calmness  with  which  this  man  appeared  to 
accept  the  terrible  task  imposed  on  him,  and  at  the  stoical 
indifference  with  which  he  looked  forward  to  the  almost  certain 
sacrifice  of  his  own  life. 

"  You  have  become  a  fanatic  of  fanatics  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
indignantly. 

George  Brand  was  staring  out  of  the  windows  into  the  dark 
night,  somewhat  absently. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  answered,  "  all  the  great  things  that  have 
been  done  in  the  world  have  been  founded  in  fanaticism.  All 
that  I  can  hope  for  now  is  that  this  particular  act  of  the  Coun- 

21 


322  SUNRISE. 

cil  may  have  the  good  effect  they  hope  from  it.  They  ought 
to  know.  They  see  the  son  of  people  with  whom  the'y  have 
to  deal.  I  should  have  thought,  with  Lind,  that  it  was  unwise 
— that  it  would  shock,  or  even  terrify  ;  but  my  opinion  is 
neither  here  nor  there.  Further  talking  is  of  no  use,  Evelyn  ; 
the  thing  is  settled  ;  what  I  have  to  consider  now,  as  regards 
myself,  is  how  I  can  best  benefit  a  few  people  whom  I  am 
interested  in,  and  you  can  help  me  in  that." 

"  But  I  appeal  to  yourself — to  your  conscience  !  "  Lord 
Evelyn  cried,  almost  in  despair.  "  You  cannot  shift  the  re- 
sponsibility to  them.  You  are  answerable  for  your  own  ac- 
tions. I  say  you  are  sacrificing  your  conscience  to  your 
pride.  You  are  saying  to  yourself,  '  Do  these  foreigners  think 
that  I  am  afraid  ? ' ' 

"  1  am  not  thinking  of  myself  at  all,"  said  Brand,  simply; 
"  that  is  all  over.  When  I  swore  to  give  myself  to  this  So- 
ciety— to  obey  the  commands  of  the  Council — then  my  re- 
sponsibility ceased.  What  I  have  to  do  is  to  be  faithful  to 
my  oath,  and  to  the  promise  I  have  made."  Almost  uncon- 
sciously he  glanced  at  the  ring  that  Natalie  had  given  him. 
"  You  would  not  have  me  skulk  back  like  a  coward  ?  You 
would  not  have  me  '  play  and  not  pay  ? '  What  I  have  under- 
taken to  do  I  will  do." 

Presently  he  added, 

"  There  is  something  you  could  do,  Evelyn.  Don't  let  us 
~talk  further  of  myself :  I  said  before,  if  a  single  man  drops 
out  of  the  ranks,  what  matter  ? — the  army  marches  on.  And 
what  has  been  concerning  me  of  late  is  the  effect  that  this  act 
of  the  Council  may  have  on  our  thousands  of  friends  through- 
out this  country.  Now,  Evelyn,  when — when  the  affair  comes 
off,  I  think  you  would  do  a  great  deal  of  good  by  pointing 
out  in  the  papers  what  a  scoundrel  this  man  Zaccatelli  was  ; 
how  he  had  merited  his  punishment,  and  how  it  might  seem 
justifiable  to  the  people  over  there  that  one  should  take  the 
law  into  one's  own  hands  in  such  an  exceptional  case.  You 
might  do  that,  Evelyn,  for  the  sake  of  the  Society.  The  peo- 
ple over  here  don't  know  what  a  ruffian  he  is,  and  how  he  is 
beyond  the  ordinary  reach  of  the  law,  or  how  the  poor  people 
have  groaned  under  his  iniquities.  Don't  seek  to  justify  me  ; 
I  shall  be  beyond  the  reach  of  excuse  or  execration  by  that 
time ;  but  you  might  break  the  shock,  don't  you  see  ? — you 
might  explain  a  little — you  mighf  intimate  to  our  friends  who 
have  joined  us  here  that  they  had  not  joined  any  kind  of 
Camorra  association.  That  troubles  me  more  than  anything. 
I  confess  to  you  that  I  have  got  quite  reconciled  to  the  af- 


THE  BEECHES.  323 

fair,  as  far  as  any  sacrifice  on  my  own  part  is  concerned. 
That  bitterness  is  over  ;  I  can  even  think  of  Natalie." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  slowly,  and  in  a  low  voice  ;  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  night-world  outside.  What  could  his 
friend  say  ?  They  talked  late  into  the  night ;  but  all  his  re- 
monstrances and  prayers  were  of  no  avail  as  against  this  clear 
resolve. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  discussion  ?  "  was  the  placid  answer. 
"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? — break  my  oaths — put  aside 
my  sacred  promise  made  to  Natalie,  and  give  up  the  Society 
altogether  ?  My  good  fellow,  let  us  talk  of  something  less 
impossible." 

And  indeed,  though  he  deprecated  discussion  on  this  point, 
he  was  anxious  to  talk.  The  fact  was  that  of  late  he  had 
come  to  fear  sleep,  as'  the  look  of  his  eyes  testified.  In  the 
daytime,  or  as  long  as  he  could  sit  up  with  a  companion,  he 
could  force  himself  to  think  only  of  the  immediate  and  prac- 
tical demands  of  the  hour  ;  vain  regrets  over  what  might  have 
been — and  even  occasional  uneasy  searchings  of  conscience — 
he  could  by  an  effort  of  will  ignore.  He  had  accepted  his 
fate  ;  he  had  schooled  himself  to  look  forward  to  it  without 
fear ;  henceforth  there  was  to  be  no  indecision,  no  murmur 
of  complaint.  But  in  the  night-time — in  dreams — the  natural 
craving  for  life  asserted  itself  ;  it  seemed  so  sad  to  bid  good- 
bye forever  to  those  whom  he  had  known  and  loved  ;  and 
mostly  always  it  was  Natalie  herself  who  stood  there,  regard- 
ing him  with  streaming  eyes,  and  wringing  her  hands,  and 
sobbing  to  him  farewell.  The  morning  light,  or  the  first  calls 
in  the  thoroughfare  below,  or  the  shrieking  of  some  railway- 
whistle  on  Hungerford  Bridge  brought  an  inexpressible  re- 
lief by  banishing  these  agonizing  visions.  No  matter  how 
soon  Waters  was  astir,  he  found  his  master  up  before  him — 
dressed,  and  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  or  reading  some 
evening  newspaper  of  the  previous  day.  Sometimes  Brand 
occupied  himself  in  getting  ready  his  own  breakfast,  but  he 
had  to  explain  to  Waters  that  this  was  not  meant  as  a  rebuke 
— it  was  merely  that,  being  awake  early,  he  wished  for  some 
occupation. 

Early  on  the  morning  after  this  last  despairing  protest  on 
the  part  of  Lord  Evelyn,  Brand  drove  up  to  Paddington  Sta- 
tion, on  his  way  to  pay  a  hurried  visit  to  his  Buckinghamshire 
home.  Nearly  all  his  affairs  had  been  settled  in  town  ;  there 
remained  some  arrangements  to  be  made  in  the  country. 
Lord  Evelyn  was  to  have  joined  him  in  this  excursion,  but  at 
the  last  moment  had  not  put  in  an  appearance  ;  so  Brand 


324  SUNRISE. 

jumped  in  just  as  the  train  was  starting,  and  found  himself 
alone  in  the  carriage. 

The  bundle  of  newspapers  he  had  with  him  did  not  seem 
to  interest  him  much.  He  was  more  than  ever  puzzled  to 
account  for  the  continued  silence  of  Natalie.  Each  morning 
"he  had  been  confidently  expecting  to  hear  from  her — to  have 
some  explanation  of  her  sudden  departure — but  as  the  days 
went  by,  and  no  message  of  any  sort  arrived,  his  wonder  be- 
came merged  in  anxiety.  It  seemed  so  strange  that  she 
should  thus  absent  herself,  when  she  had  been  counting  on 
each  day  on  which  she  might  see  him  as  if  it  were  some  gra- 
cious gift  from  Heaven. 

All  that  he  was  certain  of  in  the  matter  was  that  Lind  knew 
no  more  than  himself  as  to  where  Natalie  had  gone.  One  af- 
ternoon, going  out  from  his  rooms  into  Buckingham  Street, 
he  caught  sight  of  Beratinsky  loitering  about  farther  up  the 
little  thoroughfare,  about  the  corner  of  John  Street.  Berat- 
insky's  back  was  turned  to  him,  and  so  he  took  advantage  of 
the  moment  to  open  the  gate,  for  which  he  had  a  private  key, 
leading  down  to  the  old  York  Gate  ;  from  thence  he  made 
his  way  round  by  Villiers  Street,  whence  he  could  get  a  bet- 
ter view  of  the  little  black-a-vised  Pole's  proceedings. 

He  speedily  convinced  himself  that  Beratinsky,  though  oc- 
casionally he  walked  along  in  the  direction  of  Adam  Street, 
ancf  though  sometimes  he  would  leisurely  stroll  up  to  the 
Strand,  was  in  reality  keeping  an  eye  on  Buckingham' Street; 
and  he  had  not  the  least  doubt  that  he  himself  was  the  object 
of  this  surveillance.  He  laughed  to  himself.  Had  these 
wise  people  in  Lisle  Street,  then,  discovering  that  Natalie's 
mother  was  in  London,  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  she  and 
her  daughter  had  taken  refuge  in  so  very  open  a  place  of  shel- 
ter ?  When  Beratinsky  was  least  expecting  any  such  encounter, 
Brand  went  up  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Beratinsky  ? "  said  he,  when  the 
other  wheeled  round.  "  This  is  not  the  most  agreeable  place 
for  a  stroll.  Why  do  you  not  go  down  to  the  Embankment 
Gardens  ? " 

Beratinsky  was  angry  and  confused,  but  did  not  quite  lose 
his  self-command. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  some  one,"  he  said,  curtly. 

"Or  to  find  out  about  some  one?  Well,  I  will  save  you 
some  trouble.  Lind  wishes  to  know  where  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter are,  I  imagine." 

"Is  that  unnatural?" 


THE  BEECHES.  325 

"  I  suppose  not.  1  heard  he  had  been  down  to  Hans  Place, 
where  Madame  Lind  was  staying." 

"  You  knew,  then  ? "  the  other  said,  quickly. 

"Oh  yes,  I  knew.  Now,  if  you  will  be  frank  with  me,  I 
may  be  of  some  assistance  to  you.  Lind  does  not  know  where 
his  wife  and  daughter  are  ?  " 

"  You  know  he  does  not." 

"  And  you — perhaps  you  fancied  that  one  or  other  might 
be  sending  a  message  to  me — might  call,  perhaps* — or  even 
that  I  might  have  got  them  rooms  for  the  time  being  ?  " 

The  Englishman's  penetrating  gray  eyes  were  difficult  to 
avoid. 

"You  appear  to  know  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Brand,"  Beratinsky 
said,  somewhat  sulkily.  "  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  they 
are  now  ?  " 

"  I  can  tell  you  where  they  are  not,  and  that  is  in  London." 

The  other  looked  surprised,  then  suspicious. 

"  Oh,  believe  me  or  not,  as  you  please :  I  only  wish  to  save 
you  trouble.  I  tell  you  that,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  Miss 
Lind  and  her  mother  are  not  in  London,  nor  in  this  country 
even." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me  ;  you  are  going  too  far.  I  only  tell  you  what 
I  believe.  In  return,  as  I  have  saved  you  some  trouble,  I 
shall  expect  you  to  let  me  know  if  you  hear  anything  about 
them.  Is  that  too  much  to  ask  ?  " 

"Then  you  really  don't  know  where  they  are  ? "  Beratinsky 
said,  with  a  quick  glance. 

"  I  do  not ;  but  they  have  left  London — that  I  know." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  other,  more 
humbly.  "  I  wish  you  good  evening,  Mr.  Brand." 

"  Stay  a  moment.  Can  you  tell  me  what  Yacov  Kirski's 
address  is  ?  I  have  something  to  arrange  with  him  before  I 
leave  England." 

He  took  out  his  note-book,  and  put  down  the  address  that 
Beratinsky  gave  him.  Then  the  latter  moved  away,  taking 
off  his  hat  politely,  but  not  shaking  hands. 

Brand  was  amused  rather  than  surprised  at  this  little  ad- 
venture ;  but  when  day  after  day  passed,  and  no  tidings  came 
from  Natalie,  he  grew  alarmed.  Each  morning  he  was  cer- 
tain there  would  be  a  letter ;  each  morning  the  postman  rung 
the  bell  below,  and  Waters  would  tumble  down  the  stairs  at 
breakneck  speed,  but  not  a  word  from  Natalie  or  her  mother. 

At  the  little  Buckinghamshire  station  at  which  he  stopped 
he  found  a  dog-cart  waiting  to  convey  him  to  Hill  Beeches  ; 


326  S 

and  speedily  he  was  driving  away  through  the  country  he 
knew  so  well,  now  somewhat  desola-~  in  the  faded  tints  of 
the  waning  of  the  year ;  and  perhaps,  as  he  drew  near  to  the 
red  and  white  house  on  the  hill,  he  began  to  reproach  him- 
self that  he  had  not  made  the  place  more  his  home.  Though 
the  grounds  and  shrubberies  were  neat  and  trim  enough, 
there  was  a  neglected  look  about  the  house  itself.  When  he 
entered,  his  footsteps  rung  hollow  on  the  uncarpeted  floors. 
Chintz  covered  the  furniture  ;  muslin  smothered  the  chande- 
liers ;  everything  seemed  to  be  locked  up  and  put  away.  And 
this  comely  woman  of  sixty  or  so  who  came  forward  to  meet 
him — a  smiling,  gracious  dame,  with  silvery-white  hair,  and 
peach-like  cheeks,  and  the  most  winning  little  laugh — was 
not  her  first  word  some  hint  to  the  young  master  that  he  had 
been  a  long  time  away,  and  how  the  neighbors  were  many 
a  time  asking  her  when  a  young  mistress  was  coming  to  the 
Beeches,  to  keep  the  place  as  it  used  to  be  kept  in  the  olden 
days  ? 

"Ah  well,  sir,  you  know  how  the  people  do  talk,"  she  said, 
with  an  apologetic  smile.  "And  there  was  Mrs.  Diggles, 
sir,  that  is  at  the  Checkers,  sir,  and  she  was  speaking  only 
the  other  day,  as  it  might  be,  about  the  old  oak  cupboard, 
that  you  remember,  sir,  and  she  was  saying,  '  Well,  I  wouldn't 
give  that  cupboard  to  Mahster  Brand,  though  he  offered  me 
twenty  pound  for  it  years  ago — twenty  pound,  not  a  farthing 
less.  My  vather  he  gave  me  that  cupboard  when  I  was  mar- 
ried, and  ten  shillings  was  what  he  paid  for  it ;  and  then  there 
was  twenty-five  shillings  paid  for  putting  that  cupboard  to 
rights.  And  then  the  wet  day  that  Mahster  Brand  was  out 
shooting,  and  the  Checkers  that  crowded  that  I  had  to  ask  him 
and  the  other  gentleman  to  go  into  my  own  room,  and  what 
does  he  say  but,  "  Mrs.  Diggles,  I  will  give  you  twenty  pound 
for  that  cupboard  of  yourn,  once  you  knock  off  the  feet  and 
the  curly  bit  on  the  top."  Law,  how  the  gentle-folk  do  know 
about  sech  things  :  that  was  exactly  what  my  vather  he  paid 
the  twenty-five  shillings  for.  But  how  could  I  give  him  my 
cupboard  for  twenty  pound  when  I  had  promised  it  to  my 
nephew  ?  When  I'm  taken,  that  cupboard  my  nephew  shall 
have.'  Well,  sir,  the  people  do  say  that  Mrs.  Diggles  and  her 
nephew  have  had  a  quarrel ;  and  this  was  what  she  was  saying 
to  me — begging  your  pardon,  sir — only  the  other  day,  as  it 
might  be  ;  says  she,  *  Mrs.  Alleyne,  this  is  what  I  will  do  :  when 
your  young  mahster  brings  home  a  wife  to  the  Beeches,  I  will 
make  his  lady  a  wedding-present  of  that  cupboard  of  mine — 
that  I  will,  if  so  be  as  she  is  not  too  proud  to  accept  it  from  one 


THE  BEECHES.  327 

in  my  'umble  station.     It  will  be  a  wedding-present,  and  the 
sooner  the  better,'  says  she— begging  of  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  her,  Mrs.  Alleyne.  Now  let  me  have 
the  keys,  if  you  please  ;  I  have  one  or  two  things  to  see  to,  and 
I  will  not  detain  you  now." 

She  handed  him  the  keys  and  accepted  her  dismissal  grate- 
fully, for  she  was  anxious  to  get  off  and  see  about  luncheon. 
Then  Brand  proceeded  to  stroll  quietly,  and  peril aps  even 
sadly,  through  the  empty  and  resounding  rooms  that  had  for 
him  many  memories. 

It  was  a  rambling,  old-fashioned,  oddly-built  house,  that 
had  been  added  on  to  by  successive  generations,  according 
to  their  needs,  without  much  reference  to  the  original  design. 
It  had  come  into  the  possession  of  the  Brands  of  Darlington 
by  marriage  :  George  Brand's  grandfather  having  married  a 
certain  Lady  Mary  Heaton,  the  last  representative  of  an  old 
and  famous  family.  And  these  lonely  rooms  that  he  now 
walked  through — remarking  here  and  there  what  prominence 
had  been  given  by  his  mother  to  the  many  trophies  of  the 
chase  that  he  himself  had  sent  home  from  various  parts  of 
the  world — were  hung  chiefly  with  portraits,  whose  costumes 
ranged  from  the  stiff  frill  and  peaked  waist  of  Elizabeth  to 
the  low  neck  and  ringleted  hair  of  Victoria.  But  there  was 
in  an  inner  room  which  he  entered  another  collection  of  por- 
traits that  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  fascination  for  him — 
a  series  of  miniatures  of  various  members  of  the  Heaton  and 
Brand  families,  reaching  down  even  to  himself,  for  the  last 
that  was  added  had  been  taken  when  he  was  a  lad,  to  send 
to  his  mother,  then  lying  dangerously  ill  at  Cannes.  There 
was  her  own  portrait,  too — that  of  a  delicate-looking  woman 
with  large,  lustrous,  soft  eyes  and  wan  cheeks,  who  had  that 
peculiar  tenderness  and  sweetness  of  expression  that  fre- 
quently accompanies  consumption.  He  sat  looking  at  these 
various  portraits  a  long  time,  wondering  now  and  again  what 
this  or  that  one  may  have  suffered  or  rejoiced  in  ;  but  more 
than  all  he  lingered  over  the  last,  as  if  to  bid  those  beauti- 
ful tender  eyes  a  final  farewell. 

He  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  some  vehicle  rattling  over 
the  gravel  outside ;  then  he  heard  some  one  come  walking 
through  the  echoing  rooms.  Instantly,  he  scarcely  knew  why 
he  shut  down  the  lid  of  the  case  in  front  of  him. 

"  Missed  the  train  by  just  a  second,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
coming  into  the  room  ;  "  I  am  awfully  sorry." 

It  doesn't  matter,"  Brand  answered ;  "but  I  am  glad  you 


328  SUNRISE. 

have   come.      I  have  everything  squared   up   in   London,  I 
think  ;  there  only  remains  to  settle  a  few  things  down  here." 

He  spoke  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way — so  much  so  that 
his  friend  forgot  to  utter  any  further  and  unavailing  protest. 

"  You  know  I  am  supposed  to  be  going  away  abroad  for  a 
long  time,"  he  continued.  "  You  must  take  my  place,  Evelyn, 
in  a  sort  of  way,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to-day  to  the  people 
you  must  look  after.  There  is  a  grandson  of  my  mother's 
nurse,  for  example  :  I  promised  to  do  something  for  him  when 
he  completed  his  apprenticeship ;  and  two  old  ladies  who  have 
seen  better  days — they  are  not  supposed  to  accept  any  help, 
but  you  can  make  wonderful  discoveries  about  the  value  of 
their  old  china,  and  carry  it  off  to  Bond  Street.  I  will  leave 
you  plenty  of  funds ;  before  my  nephew  comes  into  the  place 
there  will  be  sufficient  for  him  and  tp  spare.  But  as  for  your- 
self, Evelyn,  I  want  you  to  take  some  little  souvenir — how 
about  this  ? " 

He  went  and  fetched  a  curious  old  silver  drinking-cup,  set 
round  the  lip  and  down  the  handle  with  uncut  rubies  and  sap- 
phires. 

"  I  don't  like  the  notion  of  the  thing  at  all,"  Lord  Evelyn 
said,  rather  gloomily ;  but  it  was  not  the  cup  that  he  was  re- 
fusing thus  ungraciously. 

"  After  a  time  people  will  give  me  up  for  lost ;  and  I  have  left 
you  ample  power  to  give  any  one  you  can  think  of  some  little 
present,  don't  you  know,  as  a  memento — whatever  strikes  your 
own  fancy.  I  want  Natalie  to  have  that  Louis  XV.  table  over 
there — people  rather  admire  the  inlaid  work  on  it,  and  the 
devices  inside  are  endless.  However,  we  will  make  out  a  list 
of  these  things  afterward.  Will  you  drive  me  clown  to  the 
village  now  ?  I  want  you  to  see  my  pensioners." 

"  All  right — if  you  like,"  Lord  Evelyn  said ;  though  his 
heart  was  not  in  the  work. 

He  walked  out  of  this  little  room  and  made  his  way*to  the 
front-door,  fancying  that  Brand  would  immediately  follow.  • 
But  Brand  returned  to  that  room,  and  opened  the  case  of  min- 
iatures. Then  he  took  fromrhis  pocket  a  little  parcel,  and 
unrolled  it ;  it  was  a  portrait  of  Natalie — a  photograph  on 
porcelain,  most  delicately  colored,  and  surrounded  with  an 
antique  silver  frame.  He  gazed  for  a  minute  or  two  at  the 
beautiful  face,  and  somehow  the  eyes  seemed  sad  to  him. 
Then  he  placed  the  little  portrait — which  itself  looked  like  a 
miniature — next  the  miniature  of  his  mother,  and  shut  the  case 
and  locked  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Evelyn,  for  keeping  you  waiting,"  he 


AJ   fUKllLl.  329 

said,  at  the  front-door.  "  Will  you  particularly  remember 
this — that  none  of  the  portraits  here  are  to  be  disturbed  on 
any  account  whatever  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

AT   PORTICI. 

NATALIE  slept  far  from  soundly  the  first  night  after  her 
arrival  in  Naples  ;  she  was  glad  when  the  slow,  anxious  hours, 
with  all  their  bewildering  uncertainties  and  forebodings,  were 
over.  She  rose  early,  and  dressed  quickly  ;  she  threw  open 
the  tall  French  windows  to  let  in  the  soft  silken  air  from  the 
sea  ;  then  she  stepped  out  on  the  balcony  to  marvel  once  more 
— she  who  knew  Naples  well  enough — at  the  shining  beauty 
around  her. 

It  was  a  morning  to  give  courage  to  any  one  ;  the  air  was 
fresh  and  sweet ;  she  drank  deep  of  the  abundant  gladness 
and  brightness  of  the  world.  The  great  plain  of  waters  be- 
fore her  shimmered  and  sparkled  in  millions  of  diamonds ; 
with  here  and  there  long  splashes  of  sunny  green,  and  here 
and  there  long  splashes  of  purple  where  the  sea-weed  showed 
through.  The  waves  sprung  white  on  the  projecting  walls  of 
the  Castello  dell'  Ovo,  and  washed  in  on  the  shore  with  a  soft 
continuous  murmur;  the  brown-sailed  fishing-boats  went  by, 
showing  black  or  red  as  they  happened  to  be  in  sunshine  or 
shadow.  Then  far  away  beyond  the  shining  sea  the  island  of 
Capri  lay  like  a  blue  cloud  on  the  horizon  ;  and  far  away  be- 
yond the  now  awakening  city  near  her  rose  Vesuvius,  the  twin 
peaks  dark  under  some  swathes  of  cloud,  the  sunlight  touching 
the  lower  slopes  into  a  yellowish  green,  and  shining  on  the 
pink  fringe  of  villas  along  the  shore.  On  so  fair  and  bright 
a  morning  hope  came  as  natural -to  her  as  singing  to  a  bird. 
The  fears  of  the  night  were  over;  she  could  not  be  afraid  of 
what  such  a  day  should  bring  forth. 

And  yet — and  yet — from  time  to  time — and  just  for  a  sec- 
ond or  so — her  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  And  she  was  so 
silent  and  preoccupied  at  breakfast,  that  her  mother  remarked 
it ;  and  Natalie  had  to  excuse  herself  by  saying  that  she  was 
a  little  tired  with  the  travelling.  After  breakfast  she  led  her 
mother  into  the  reading-room,  and  said,  in  rather  an  excited 
way, 


330  SISNKISJS. 

"Now,  mother,  here  is  a  treat  for  you  ;  you  will  get  all  the 
English  papers  here,  and  all  the  news." 

"  You  forget,  Natalie,"  said  her  mother,  smiling,  "  that  Eng- 
lish papers  are  not  of  much  use  to  me." 

"  Ah,  well,  the  foreign  papers,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  You 
see,  mother,  I  want  to  go  along  to  a  chemist's  to  get  some 
white  rose." 

"  You  should  not  throw  it  about  the  railway  carriages  so 
much,  Natalushka,"  the  unsuspecting  mother  said,  reprovingly. 
"  You  are  extravagant." 

She  did  not  heed. 

"Perhaps  they  will  have  it  in  Naples.  Wait  until  I  come 
back,  mother;  I  shall  not  be  long." 

But  it  was  not  white-rose  scent  that  was  in  her  mind  as  she 
went  rapidly  away  and  got  ready  to  go  out;  and  it  was 
not  in  search  of  any  chemist's  shop  that  she  made  her  way  to 
the  Via  Roma.  Why,  she  had  asked  herself  that  morning,  as 
she  stood  on  the  balcony,  and  drank  in  the  sunlight  and  the 
sweet  air,  should  she  take  the  poor  tired  mother  with  her  on 
this  adventure  ?  If  there  was  danger,  she  would  brave  it  by 
herself.  She  walked  quickly — perhaps  anxious  to  make  the 
first  plunge. 

She  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  Vico  Carlo,  though  it 
was  one  of  the  narrowest  and  steepest  of  the  small,  narrow, 
and  steep  lanes  leading  off  the  main  thoroughfare  into  the 
masses  of  tall  and  closely-built  houses  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
But  when  she  looked  up  and  recognized  the  little  plate  bearing 
the  name  at  the  corner,  she  turned  a  little  pale  ;  something, 
she  knew  not  what,  was  now  so  near. 

And  as  she  turned  into  this  narrow  and  squalid  little  alley, 
it  seemed  as  if  her  eyes,  through  some  excitement  or  other, 
observed  the  objects  around  her  with  a  strange  intensity. 
She  could  remember  each  and  every  one  of  them  afterward — 
the  fruit-sellers  bawling,  and  the  sellers  of  acidulated  drinks 
out-roaring  them ;  the  shoemakers  already  at  work  at  their 
open  stalls  ;  mules  laden  with  vegetables  ;  a  negro  monk,  with 
his  black  woolly  head  above  the  brown  hood  ;  a  venerable  let- 
ter-writer at  a  small  table,  spectacles  on  nose  and  pen  in  hand, 
with  two  women  whispering  to  him  what  he  was  to  write  for 
them.  She  made  her  way  up  the  steep  lane,  through  the  busy, 
motley,  malodorous  crowd,  until  she  reached  the  corner  pointed 
out  to  her  by  Calabressa. 

But  he  had  not  told  her  which  way  to  turn,  and  for  a  sec- 
ond or  two  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  crossing,  uncertain 
and  bewildered.  A  brawny-looking  fellow,  apparently  a 


AT  PORTIC1.  331 

butcher,  addressed  her;  she  murmured  some  thanks,  and 
hastily  turned  away,  taking  to  the  right.  She  had  not  gone 
but  a  few  yards  when  she  saw  the  entrance  to  a  court  which, 
at  least,  was  certainly  as  dark  as  that  described  by  Calabressa. 
She  was  half  afraid  that  the  man  who  had  spoken  to  her  was 
following  her  ;  and  so,  without  further  hesitation,  she  plunged 
into  this  gloomy  court-yard,  which  was  apparently  quite  de- 
serted. 

She  was  alone,  and  she  looked  around.  A  second  con- 
vinced her  that  she  had  hit  upon  the  place,  as  it  were  by  acci- 
dent. Over  her  head  swung  an  oil-lamp,  that  threw  but  the 
scantiest  orange  light  into  the  vague  shadows  of  the  place ; 
and  in  front  of  her  were  the  open  windows  of  what  was  ap- 
parently a  wine-shop.  She  did  not  stay  to  reflect.  Perhaps 
with  some  little  tightening  of  the  mouth — unknown  to  herself 
— she  walked  forward  and  entered  the  vaults. 

Here,  again,  no  one  was  visible  ;  there  were  rows  of  tuns, 
certainly,  and  a  musty  odor  in  the  place,  but  no  sign  of  any 
trade  or  business  being  carried  on.  Suddenly  out  of  the  dark- 
ness appeared  a  figure — so  suddenly  indeed  as  to  startle  her. 
Had  this  man  been  seen  in  ordinary  daylight,  he  would  no 
doubt  have  looked  nothing  worse  than  a  familiar  type  of  the 
fat  black-a-vised  Italian — not  a  very  comely  person,  it  is  true, 
but  not  in  any  way  horrible — but  now  these  dusky  shadows 
lent  something  ghoulish-looking  to  his  bushy  head  and  greasy 
face  and  sparkling  black  eyes. 

"  What  is  the  pleasure  of  the  young  lady  ? "  he  said,  curtly. 

Natalie  had  been  startled. 

"I  wished  to  inquire — I  wished  to  mention,"  she  stam- 
mered, "one  Bartolotti." 

But  at  the  same  time  she  was  conscious  of  a  strange  sink- 
ing of  the  heart.  Was  this  the  sort  of  creature  who  was  ex- 
pected to  save  the  life  of  her  lover  ? — this  the  sort  of  man  to 
pit  against  Ferdinand  Lind?  Poor  old  Calabressa — she 
thought  he  meant  well,  but  he  boasted,  he  was  foolish. 

This  heavy-faced  and  heavy-bodied  man  in  the  dusk  did  not 
reply  at  once.  He  turned  aside,  saying, 

"  Excuse  me,  signorina,  it  is  dark  here  ;  they  have  neglected 
to  light  the  lamps  as  yet." 

Then,  with  much  composure,  he  got  a  lamp,  struck  a  match, 
and  lit  it.  The  light  was  not  great,  but  he  placed  it  deliber- 
ately so  that  it  shone  on  Natalie,  and  then  he  calmly  investi- 
gated her  appearance. 

"  Yes,  signorina,  you  mentioned  one  Bartolotti,"  he  re- 
marked, in  a  more  respectful  tone. 


332  SUWKfSE. 

Natalie  hesitated.  According  to  Calabressa's  account,  the 
mere  mention  of  the  name  was  to  act  as  a  talisman  which 
would  work  wonders  for  her.  This  obese  person  merely 
stood  there,  awaiting  what  she  should  say. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  in  great  embarrassment,  "  you  know 
one  Calabre&a  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Calabressa ! "  he  said,  and  the  dull  face  lighted  up 
with  a  little  more  intelligence.  "  Yes,  of  course,  one  knows 
Calabressa." 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps,  if  I  could 
see  him,  he  would  explain  to  you — " 

"  But  Calabressa  is  not  here  ;  he  is  not  even  in  this  coun- 
try, perhaps." 

Then  silence.  A  sort  of  terror  seized  her.  Was  this  the 
end  of  all  her  hopes  ?  Was  she  to  go  away  thus  ?  Then 
came  a  sudden  cry,  wrung  from  her  despair. 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  must  tell  me  if  there  is  no  one  who  can  help 
me  !  I  have  come  to  save  one  who  is  in  trouble,  in  danger. 
Calabressa  said  to  me,  '  Go  to  Naples ;  go  to  such  and  such 
a  place  ;  the  mere  word  Bartolotti  will  give  you  powerful 
friends  ;  count  on  them  ;  they  will  not  fail  one  who  belongs 
to  the  Berezolyis.'  And  now — " 

"  Your  pardon,  signorina  ;  have  the  complaisance  to  repeat 
the  name." 

"  Berezolyi,"  she  answered,  quickly  ;  "  he  said  it  would  be 
known." 

"  I  for  my  part  do  not  know  it ;  but  that  is  of  no  conse- 
quence," said  the  man.  "  I  begin  to  perceive  what  it  is  that 
you  demand.  It  is  serious.  I  hope  my  friend  Calabressa  is 
justified.  I  have  but  to  do  my  duty." 

Then  he  glanced  at  the  young  lady — or,  rather,  at  her  cos- 
tume. 

"  The  assistance  you  demand  for  some  one,  signorina  :  is 
it  a  sum  of  money — is  it  a  reasonable,  ordinary  sum  of  money 
that  would  be  in  the  question,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  signore  ;  not  at  all  !  " 

"  Very  well.  Then  have  the  kindness  to  write  your  name 
and  your  address  for  me  :  I  will  convey  your  appeal." 

He  brought  her  writing  materials ;  after  a  moment's  con- 
sideration she  wrote — "Natalie  Lind,  the  daughter  of  Natalie 
Berezolyi.  Hotel ."  She  handed  him  the  paper. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  signorina.  To-day,  perhaps  to-mor- 
row, you  will  hear  from  the  friends  of  Calabressa.  You  will 
be  ready  to  go  where  they  ask  you  to  go  ?  " 


AT  PORTICI.  333 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  sir  !  "  she  exclaimed.      "  How  can  I  thank 


vou 


"  It  is  unnecessary,"  he  said,  taking  the  lamp  to  show  her 
the  way  more  clearly.  "  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  good- 
morning,  signorina."  And  again  he  bowed  respectfully. 
"Your  most  humble  servant,  signorina." 

She  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  found  that  her  mother  had 
gone  up-stairs  to  her  own  room. 

"  Natalushka,  you  have  been  away  trying  to  find  some  one  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  the  girl  said,  rather  sadly. 

•'  Why  did  you  go  alone  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  would  not  tire  you,  dear  mother." 

Then  she  described  all  the  circumstances  of  her  morning's 
visit. 

"  But  why  should  you  be  so  sad,  Natalushka  ?  "  the  mother 
said,  taking  her  daughter's  hand  ;  "  don't  you  know  that  fine 
palaces  may  have  rusty  keys?  Oh,  I  can  reassure  you  on 
that  point.  You  will  not  have  to  deal  with  persons  like  your 
friend  the  wine-merchant — not  at  all.  I  know  at  least  as 
much  as  that,  child.  But  you  see,  they  have  to  guard  them- 
selves." 

Natalie  would  not  leave  the  hotel  for  a  moment.  She  pre- 
tended to  read  ;  but  every  person  who  came  into  the  reading- 
room  caused  her  to  look  up  with  a  start  of  apprehensive  in- 
quiry. At  last  there  came  a  note  for  her.  She  broke  open 
the  envelope  hurriedly,  and  found  a  plain  white  card,  with 
these  words  written  on  it : 

"  Be  at  the  Villa  Odclschalchi,  Portici,  at  four  this  afternoon" 

Joy  leaped  to  her  face  again. 

"  Mother,  look  !  "  she  cried,  eagerly.  "  After  all,  we  may 
hope." 

"  This  time  you  shall  not  go  alone,  Natalushka." 

"  Why  not,  mother  ?     I  am  not  afraid." 

"  I  may  be  of  use  to  you,  child.  There  may  be  friends  of 
mine  there — who  knows  ?  I  am  going  with  you." 

In  course  of  time  they  hired  a  carriage,  and  drove  away 
through  the  crowded  and  gay  ly- colored  city  in  the  glow  of  the 
afternoon.  But  they  had  sufficient  prudence,  before  reaching 
Portici,  to  descend  from  the  carnage  and  proceed  on  foot. 
They  walked  quietly  along,  apparently  not  much  interested 
in  what  was  around  them.  Presently  Natalie  pressed  her 
mother's  arm  ,  they  were  opposite  the  Villa  Odelschalchi — 
there  was  the  name  on  the  flat  pillars  by  the  gate. 

This  great  plain  building,  which  might  have  been  called  a 
palazzo  rather  than  a  villa,  seemed,  on  the  side  fronting  the 


334  SUNRISE. 

street,  to  be  entirely  closed — all  the  casements  of  the  win- 
dows being  shut.  But  when  they  crossed  to  the  gate,  and 
pulled  the  big  iron  handle  that  set  a  bell  ringing,  a  porter 
appeared—a  big,  indolent-looking  man,  who  regarded  them 
calmly,  to  see  which  would  speak  first. 

Natalie  simply  produced  the  card  that  had  been  sent  to 
her. 

"  This  is  the  Villa  Odelschalchi,  I  perceive,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  then,  signorina  ? "  the  porter  said,  with 
great  respect.  "  Yes,  there  was  one  lady  to  come  here  at 
four  o'clock — " 

"  But  the  signora  is  my  mother,"  said  Natalie,  perhaps  with 
a  trifle  of  impatience. 

The  man  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  by  this  time  Natalie, 
accompanied  by  her  mother,  had  passed  through  the  cool 
gray  archway  into  the  spacious  tessellated  court,  from  which 
rose  on  each  hand  a  wide  marble  staircase. 

"  Will  the  signorina  and  the,  signora  her  mother  conde- 
scend to  follow  me  ?  "  the  porter  said,  leading  the  way  up 
one  of  the  staircases,  the  big  iron  keys  still  in  his  hand. 

They  were  shown  into  an  antechamber,  but  scantily  fur- 
nished, and  the  porter  disappeared.  In  a  minute  or  two 
there  came  into  the  room  a  small,  sallow-complexioned  man, 
who  was  no  other  than  the  Secretary  Granaglia.  He  bowed, 
and,  as  he  did  so,  glanced  from  the  one  to  the  other  of  the 
visitors  with  scrutiny. 

"  It  is  no  doubt  correct,  signorina,"  said  he,  addressing 
himself  to  Natalie,  "  that  you  have  brought  the  signora  your 
mother  with  you.  We  had  thought  you  were  alone,  from  the 
message  we  received.  No  matter ;  only " — and  here  he 
turned  to  Natalie's  mother — "  only,  signora,  you  will  renew 
your  acquaintance  with  one  who  wishes  to  be  known  by  the 
name  of  Von  Zoesch.  I  have  no  doubt  the  signora  under- 
stands." 

"  Oh,  perfectly,  perfectly  !  "  said  the  elder  woman  :  she 
had  been  familiar  with  these  prudent  changes  of  name  all  her 
life. 

The  Secretary  Granaglia  bowed  and  retired. 

"  It  is  some  one  who  knows  you,  mother  ? "  Natalie  said, 
breathlessly. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so  !  "  the  other  answered.  She  was  a  little 
pale,  and  her  fingers  were  tightly  clasped. 

Then  a  heavier  step  was  heard  in  the  empty  corridors  out- 
side. The  door  was  opened  ;  there  appeared  a  tall  and  sol- 
dierly-looking man,  about  six  feet  three  in  height  and  j:er- 


AT  PORTlCf.  535 

fectly  erect,  with  closely-cropped  white  hair,  a  long  white 
mustache,  a  reddish  face,  and  clear,  piercing,  light-blue  eyes. 
The  moment  the  elder  woman  saw  him  she  uttered  a  slight 
cry — of  joy,  it  seemed,  and  surprise— and  sprung  to  her  feet. 
'"  Stefan !  " 

"  Natalie  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  turn  with  an  almost  boyish 
laugh  of  pleasure,  and  he  came  forward  to  her  with  both 
hands  outstretched,  and  took  hers.  "  Why,  what  good  wind 
has  brought  you  to  this  country  ?  But  I  beg  a  thousand  par- 
dons—" 

He  turned  and  glanced  at  Natalie. 

"  My  child,"  she  said,  "  let  me  present  you  to  my  old 
friend,  General — " 

"Von  Zoesch,"  he  interrupted,  and  he  took  Natalie's  hand 
at  the  same  time.  "  What,  you  are  the  young  lady,  then,  who 
bearded  the  lion  in  his  den  this  morning  ? — and  you  were  not 
afraid  ?  No,  I  can  see  you  are  a-  Berezolyi ;  if  you  were  a 
man  you  would  be  forever  getting  yourself  and  your  friends 
into  scrapes,  and  risking  your  neck  to  get  them  out  again. 
A  Berezolyi,  truly !  '  The  more  beautiful  daughter  of  a 
beautiful  mother  ! '  But  the  little  scamp  knew  his  insulting 
iambics  were  only  fit  to  be  thrown  into  the  fire  when  he  made 
that  unjust  comparison.  Ah,  you  young  people  have  fresii 
complexions  and  bright  eyes  -on  your  side,  but  we  old  people 
prefer  our  old  friends." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir,"  said  Natalie,  with  her  eyes  bent  down. 

"  And  had  your  father  no  other  messenger  that  he  must 
employ  you  ? "  said  this  erect,  white-haired  giant,  who  re- 
garded her  in  a  kindly  way ;  "  or  is  it  that  feather-brained 
fellow  Calabressa  who  has  got  you  to  intercede  for  him  ? 
Rest  assured.  Calabressa  will  soon  be  in  imminent  peril  of 
being  laid  by  the  heels,  and  he  is  therefore  supremely  happy." 

Before  the  girl  could  speak  he  had  turned  to  the  mother. 

"  Come,  my  old  friend,  shall  we  go  out  into  the  garden  ?  I 
am  sorry  the  reception-rooms  in  the  villa  are  all  dismantled  ; 
in  truth^  we  are  only  temporary  lodgers.  And  I  have  a  great 
many  questions  to  ask  you  about  old  friends,  particularly 
your  father." 

"  Stefan,  can  you  not  understand  why  I  have  permitted  my- 
self to  leave  Hungary  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  her  deep  mourning. 

"  Ah,  is  that  so  ?  Well,  no  one  ever  lived  a  braver  life. 
And  how  he  kept  up  the  old  Hungarian  traditions  ! — the  house 
a  hotel  from  month's  end  to  month's  end  :  no  questions  asked 
but  'Are  you  a  stranger  ?  then  my  house  is  yours.'  " 


3;>6  SUNRISE. 

He  led  the  way  down  the  stairs,  chatting  to  this  old  friend 
of  his  ;  and  though  Natalie  was  burning  with  impatience,  she 
forced  herself  to  be  silent.  Was  it  not  all  in  her  favor  that 
this  member  of  the  mysterious  Council  should  recur  to  these 
former  days,  and  remind  himself  of  his  intimacy  with  her 
family  ?  She  followed  them  in  silence :  he  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her  existence. 

They  passed  through  the  court-yard,  and  down  some  broad 
steps.  The  true  front  of  the  building  was  on  this  seaward 
side — a  huge  mass  of  'pink,  with  green  casements.  From  the 
broad  stone  steps  a  series  of  terraces,  prettily  laid  out,  descend- 
ed to  a  lawn ;  but,  instead  of  passing  down  that  way,  the  tall, 
soldierly-looking  man  led  his  companion  by  a  side-flight  of 
steps,  which  enabled  them  to  enter  an  allee  cut  through  a  mass 
of  olives  and  orange  and  lemon  trees.  There  were  fig-trees 
along  the  wall  by  the  side  of  this  path  ;  a  fountain  plashed 
coolly  out  there  on  the  lawn,  and  beyond  the  opening  showed 
the  deep  blue  of  the  sea,  with  the  clear  waves  breaking 
whitely  on  the  shores. 

They  sat  down  on  a  garden-seat ;  and  Natalie,  sitting  next 
her  mother,  waited  patiently  and  breathlessly,  scarcely  hearing 
all  this  talk  about  old  companions  and  friends. 

At  last  the  general  said, 

"  Now  about  the  business  that  brought  you  here :  is  it 
serious  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  very,"  the  mother  said,  with  some  color  of  excite- 
ment appearing  in  her  worn  face;  "it  is  a  friend  of  ours  in 
England  ;  he  has  been  charged  by  the  Society  with  some 
duty  that  will  cost  him  his  life ;  we  have  come  to  intercede 
for  him — to  ask  you  to  save  him.  For  the  sake  of  old  times, 
Stefan — " 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  other,  looking  grave.  "Do 
you  mean  the  Englishman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  the  same." 

"  And  who  has  told  you  what  it  is  purposed  to  have  done  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  quite  a  change  in  his  manner. 

"No  one,"  she  answered,  eagerly;  "we  guess  that  it  is 
something  of  great  danger." 

"  And  if  that  is  so,  are  you  unfamiliar  with  persons  having 
to  incur  danger  ?  Why  not  an  Englishman  as  well  as  another  ? 
This  is  an  extraordinary  freak  of  yours,  Natalie ;  I  cannot 
understand  it.  And  to  have  come  so  far  when  any  one  in 
England — any  one  of  us,  I  mean — could  have  told  you  it  was 
useless." 

"  But  why  useless,  i£  you  are  inclined  to  interfere  ? "  she 


AN  APPEAL.  337 

said,  boldly ,  "  and  I  think  my  father's  family  have  some 
title  to  consideration." 

"  My  old  friend,"  said  he,  in  a  kindly  way,  "  what  is  there 
in  the  world  I  would  not  do  for  you  if  it  were  within  my  power  ? 
But  this  is  not.  What  you  ask  is,  to  put  the  matter  shortly, 
impossible — impossible  !  " 

In  the  brief  silence  that  followed  the  mother  heard  a  slight 
sigh;  she  turned  instantly,  and  saw  her  daughter,  .as  white  as 
death,  about  to  fall.  She  caught  her  in  her  arms  with  a  slight 
cry  of  alarm. 

"  Here,  Stefan,  take  my  handkerchief — dip  it  in  the  water 
—quick ! " 

The  huge,  bullet-headed  man  strode  across  the  lawn  to  the 
fountain.  As  he  returned,  and  saw  before  him  the  white- 
lipped,  unconscious  girl,  who  was  supported  in  her  mother's 
arms,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Now  I  understand." 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

AN    APPEAL. 

THIS  sudden  and  involuntary  confession  of  alarm  and 
despair  no  doubt  told  her  story  more  clearly  than  anything 
else  could  have  done.  General  von  Zoesch  as  he  chose  to 
call  himself,  was  excessively  concerned;  he  held  her  hand 
till  he  saw  the  life  returning  to  the  pale,  beautiful  face :  he 
was  profuse  and  earnest  in  his  apologies. 

"  My  dear  young  lady  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons  ! — I  had 
no  idea  of  alarming  you  ;  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  deeply 
interested  ;  come,  take  my  arm,  and  we  will  walk  down  into 
the  open,  where  the  sea-air  is  cool.  I  beg  a  thousand  par- 
dons." 

She  had  pulled  herself  together  with  a  desperate  effort  of 
will. 

"  You  spoke  abruptly,  signore  ;  you  used  the  word  impossi- 
ble !  I  had  imagined  it  was  unknown  to  you." 

Her  lips  were  rather  pale  ;  but  there  was  a  flush  of  color 
returning  to  her  face,  and  her  voice  had  something  of  the  old 
proud  and  pathetic  ring  in  it. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  standing  before  him,  with  her  eyes 

downcast,  "  I  was  told  that  when  ^reat  trouble  came  upon 

me  or  mine  I  was  to  come  here — 1&  Naples — and  I  should 

find    myself   under  the  protection  of  the 

22 


338  SUNRIS 

Europe.  My  name — my  mother's  name — was  to  be  enough. 
And  this  is  the  result,  that  a  brave  man,  who  is  our  friend  and 
dear  to  us,  is  threatened  with  a  dishonorable  death  ,  and  the 
very  power  that  imposed  it  on  him — the  power  that  was  said 
to  be  invincible,  and  wise,  and  generous — is  unable  or  un- 
willing to  stir  hand  or  foot  / " 

"  A  dishonorable  death,  signorina  ? '' 

"  Oh,  signore,"  she  said,  with  a  proud  indignation,  "  do 
not  speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child.  Cannot  one  see  what 
is  behind  all  this  secrecy  ?  Cannot  one  see  that  you  know 
well  what  has  been  done  in  England  by  your  friends  and 
colleagues  ?  You  put  this  nan,  who  is  too  proud,  too  noble, 
to  withdraw  from  his  word,  on  a  service  that  involves  the 
certain  sacrifice  of  his  life  !  and  there  is  no  honor  attached  to 
this  sacrifice — so  he  himself  has  admitted.  What  does  that 
mean  ? — what  can  it  mean — but  assassination  ?  " 

He  drew  back  his  head  a  little  bit,  as  if  startled,  and 
stared  at  her. 

"  My  dear  young  lady — " 

But  her  courage  had  not  returned  to  her  for  nothing.  She 
raised  the  beautiful,  dark,  pathetic  eyes,  and  regarded  him 
with  an  indignant  fearlessness. 

"  That  is  what  any  one  might  guess,"  she  said.  "  But 
there  is  more.  Signore,  you  and  your  friends  meditate  the 
assassination  of  the  King  of  Italy !  and  you  call  on  an 
Englishman — an  Englishman  who  has  no  love  of  secret  and 
blood-stained  ways — " 

"  Stefan  !"  the  mother  cried,  quickly,  and  she  placed  her 
hand  on  the  general's  arm  ;  "  do  not  be  angry.  Do  not  heed 
her — she  is  a  child — she  is  quick  to  speak.  Believe  me, 
there  are  other  reasons  for  our  coming  to  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  friend  Natalie  ;  all  in  good  time.  But  I  am 
most  anxious  to  put  myself  right  with  the  signorina  your 
daughter  first  of  all.  Now,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  said, 
taking  her  hand,  and  putting  it  on  his  arm,  and  gently  com- 
pelling her  to  walk  with  him  toward  the  opener  space  where 
the  sea-air  was  cool,  "  I  again  apologize  to  you  for  having 
spoken  unwittingly — " 

"  Oh,  signore,  do  not  trouble  about  that !  It  is  no  matter 
of  courtesy  or  politeness  that  is  in  the  question  :  it  is  the  life  of 
one  of  one's  dearest  friends.  There  are  other  times  for 
politeness." 

"  Stefan,"  the  mother  interposed,  anxiously,  "  do  not  heed 
\er — she  is  agitated." 

"  My  dear  Natalie,"  said  the  general,  smiling,  "  I  admire 


A  A'  APPEAL.  339 

a  brave  woman  as  I  admire  a  brave  man.  Do  not  I  recog- 
nize another  of  you  Berezolyis  ?  The  moment  you  think  one  of 
(your  friends  is  being  wronged,  fire  and  water  won't  prevent 
you  from  speaking  out.  No,  no,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he 
said,  turning  to  the  daughter,  "  you  cannot  offend  me  by  be- 
ing loyal  and  outspoken." 

He  patted  her  hand,  just  as  Calabressa  had  done. 

"  But  I  must  ask  you  to  listen  for  a  moment,  to  remove 
one  or  two  misconceptions.  It  is  true  I  know  something  of 
the  service  which  your  English  friend  has  undertaken  to  per- 
form. Believe  me,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  assassina- 
tion of  the  King  of  Italy — -nothing  in  the  world." 

She  lifted  her  dark  eyes  for  a  second,  and  regarded  him 
steadily. 

"  I  perceive,"  said  he,  "  that  you  pay  me  the  compliment 
of  asking  me  if  I  lie.  I  do  not.  Reassure  yourself :  there 
are  no  people  in  this  country  more  loyal  to  the  present  dy- 
nasty than  my  friends  and  myself.  We  have  no  time  for  wild 
Republican  projects." 

She  looked  somewhat  bewildered.  This  speculation  as  to 
the  possible  nature  of  the  service  demanded  of  George 
Brand  had  been  the  outcome  of  many  a  night's  anxious  self- 
communing  ;  and  she  had  indulged  in  the  wild  hope  that 
this  man,  when  abruptly  challenged,  might  have  been  startled 
into  some  avowal.  For  then,  would  not  her  course  have 
been  clear  enough  ?  But  now  she  was  thrown  back  on  her 
former  perplexity,  with  only  the  one  certainty  present  to  her 
mind — the  certainty  of  the  danger  that  confronted  her  lover. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  it  is  useless  for  you  to 
ask  what  that  service  is,  for  I  shall  refuse  to  answer  you. 
But  I  assure  you  that  you  have  my  deepest  sympathy,  and  I 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  suffering  from  similar  causes.  I  do 
not  seek  to  break  into  your  confidence,  but  I  think  I  understand 
your  position ;  you  will  believe  me  that  it  is  with  no  light 
heart  that  I  must  repeat  the  word  impossible.  Need  I  reason 
with  you  ?  Need  I  point  out  to  you  that  there  is  scarcely  any 
one  in  the  world  whom  we  might  select  for  a  dangerous  duty 
who  would  not  have  some  one  who  would  suffer  on  his  ac- 
count ?  Who  is  without  some  tie  of  affection  that  must  be 
cut  asunder — no  matter  with  what  pain — when  the  necessity 
for  the  sacrifice  arises  ?  You  are  one  of  the  unhappy  ones  ; 
you  must  be  brave  ;  you  must  try  to  forget  your  sufferings,  as 
thousands  of  wives  and  sweethearts  and  daughters  have  had 
to  forget,  in  thinking  that  their  relatives  and  friends  died  in 
a  good  cause." 


340  SUNRISE. 

Her  heart  was  proud  and  indignant  no  longer  ;  it  had 
grown  numbed.  The  air  from  the  sea  felt  cold. 

"  I  am  helpless,  signore,"  she  murmured  ;  "  I  do  not  know 
what  the  cause  is.  I  do  not  know  what  justification  you  have 
for  taking  this  man's  life." 

He  did  not  answer  that.     He  said, 

"  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  is  not  those  who  are  called  on  to 
sacrifice  their  life  for  the  general  good  who  suffer  most. 
They  can  console  themselves  with  thinking  of  the  result.  It 
is  their  friends — those  dearest  to  them — who  suffer,  and  who 
many  a  time  would  no  doubt  be  glad  to  become  their  sub- 
stitutes. It  is  true  that  we — that"  is,  that  many  associations 
— recognize  the  principle  of  the  vicarious  performance  of 
duties  and  punishments  ;  but  not  any  one  yet  has  permitted 
a  woman  to  become  substitute  for  a  man." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  that,  signore  ? "  she  asked,  re- 
garding him. 

"I  have  known  some  cases,"  he  said,  evasively,  "where 
such  an  offer,  I  think,  would  have  been  made." 

"  It  could  not  be  accepted  ? " 

"Oh  no." 

"  Not  even  by  the  power  that  is  the  greatest  in  Europe  ? " 
she  said,  bitterly — "  that  is  invincible  and  all-generous  ?  Oh, 
signore,  you  are  too  modest  in  your  pretensions  !  And  the 
Berezolyis — they  have  done  nothing,  then,  in  former  days  to 
entitle  them  to  consideration  ;  they  are  but  as  anybody  in 
the  crowd  who  might  come  forward  and  intercede  for  a 
friend ;  they  have  no  old  associates,  then,  and  companions 
in  this  Society,  that  they  cannot  have  this  one  thing  granted 
them — that  they  cannot  get  this  one  man's  life  spared  to 
him  !  Signore,  your  representatives  mistake  your  powers ; 
more  than  that,  they  mistake  the  strength  of  your  memory, 
and  your  friendship  !  " 

The  red  face  of  the  bullet-headed  general  grew  redder 
still,  but  not  with  anger. 

"  Signorina,"  he  said,  evidently  greatly  embarrassed, 
"you  humiliate  me.  You — you  do  not  know  what  you  ask — " 

He  had  led  her  back  to  the  garden-seat ;  they  had  both 
sat  down  ;  he  did  not  notice  how  her  bosom  was  struggling 
with  emotion. 

"  You  ask  me  to  interfere — to  commit  an  act  of  injustice — " 

"  Oh,  signore,  signore,  this  is  what  I  ask  ! "  she  cried, 
quite  overcome  ;  and  she  fell  at  his  feet,  and  put  her  clasped 
hands  on  his  knees,  and  broke  into  a  wild  fit  of  crying ; 
"  this  is  what  I  ask  of  you,  signore — this  is  what  I  beg  from 


341 

you  on  my  knees — 1  ask  you  to  give  me  the  life  of — of  my 
betrothed  !  " 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  ;  her  frame  was  shaken 
with  her  sobs. 

"  Little  daughter,"  said  he,  greatly  agitated,  "  rise  ;  come, 
remain  here  for  a  few  moments  ;  I  wish  to  speak  to  your 
mother — alone.  Natalie!" 

The  elder  woman  accompanied  him  a  short  distance  across 
across  the  lawn  ;  they  stood  by  the  fountain. 

"  By  Heaven,  I  would  do  anything  for  the  child  !  "  he  said, 
rapidly  ;  "  but  you  see,  dear  friend,  how  it  is  impossible. 
Look  at  the  injustice  of  it.  If  we  transferred  this  duty  to  an- 
other person,  what  possible  excuse  could  we  make  to  him 
whom  we  might  choose  ? " 

He  was  looking  back  at  the  girl. 

"  It  will  kill  her,  Stefan,"  the  mother  said. 

"  Others  have  suffered  also." 

The  elder  woman  seemed  to  collect  herself  a  little. 

"  But  I  told  you  we  had  not  said  everything  to  you.  The 
poor  child  is  in  despair ;  she  has  not  thought  of  all  the  rea- 
sons that  induced  us  to  come  to  you.  Stefan,  you  remember 
my  cousin  Konrad  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember  Konrad  well  enough,"  said  the  gen- 
ral,  absently,  for  he  was  still  regarding  the  younger  Natalie, 
who  sat  on  the  bench,  her  hands  clasped,  her  head  bent 
down.  "  Poor  fellow,  he  came  to  a  sad  end  at  last ;  but  he 
always  carried  his  life  in  his  hands,  and  with  a  gay  heart  too." 

"  But  you  remember,  do  you  not,  something  before  that  ? " 
the  mother  said,  with  some  color  coming  into  her  face.  "  You 
remember  how  my  husband  had  him  chosen — and  I  myself 
appealed — and  you,  Stefan,  you  were  among  the  first  to  say 
that  the  Society  must  inquire — " 

"  Ah,  but  that  was  different,  Natalie.  You  know  why  it 
was  that  that  commission  had  to  be  reversed." 

"  Do  I  know  ?  Yes.  What  else  have  I  had  to  think  about 
these  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  my  child  was  separated 
from  me  ?  "  she  said,  sadly.  "  And  perhaps  I  have  grown 
suspicious  ;  perhaps  I  have  grown  mad  to  think  that  what 
has  happened  once  might  happen  again." 

"  What  ?  "  he  said,  turning  his  clear  blue  eyes  suddenly  on 
her. 

She  did  not  flinch. 

"  Consider  the  circumstances,  Stefan,  and  say  whether  one 
has  no  reason  to  suspect.  The  Englishman,  this  Mr.  Brand, 
loves  Natalie  ;  she  loves  him  in  return  ;  my  husband  refuses 


34*  SUNRISE. 

his  consent  to  the  marriage  ;  and  yet  they  meet  in  opposition 
to  his  wishes.  Then  there  is  another  thing  that  I  cannot  so 
well  explain,  but  it  is  something  about  a  request  on  my  hus- 
band's part  that  Mr.  Brand,  who  is  a  man  of  wealth,  should 
accept  a  certain  offer,  and  give  over  his  property  to  the  funds 
of  the  Society." 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  her  companion  said,  calmlv. 
"  Well  ?  " 

"Well,  Mr.  Brand,  thinking  of  Natalie's  future,  refuses. 
But  consider  this,  Stefan,  that  it  had  been  hinted  to  him  be- 
fore that  in  case  of  his  refusal,  he  might  be  sent  to  America 
to  remain  there  for  life." 

"  I  perceive,  my  old  friend,  that  you  are  reading  in  your 
own  interpretations  into  an  ordinary  matter  of  business. 
However — " 

"  But  his  refusal  was  immediately  followed  by  that  arrange- 
ment. He  was  ordered  to  go  to  America.  My  husband,  no 
doubt  considered  that  that  would  effectually  separate  him 
and  Natalie — " 

"  Again  you  are  putting  in  your  own  interpretation." 

"  One  moment,  Stefan.  My  child  is  brave  ;  she  thought 
an  injustice  was  being  done  ;  she  thought  it  was  for  her  sake 
that  her  lover  was  being  sent  away,  and  then  she  spoke 
frankly;  she  said  she  would  go  with  him." 

"  Yes  ?  "     He  was  now  listening  with  more  interest. 

"You  perceive  then,  my  dear  friend,  my  husband  was 
thwarted  in  every  way.  Then  it  was,  and  quite  suddenly, 
that  he  reversed  this  arrangement  about  America,  and  there 
fell  on  Mr.  Brand  this  terrible  thing.  Knowing  what  I  know, 
do  you  not  think  I  had  fair  cause  for  suspicion  ?  And  when 
Natalie  said,  '  Oh,  there  are  those  abroad  who  will  remove 
this  great  trouble  from  us,'  then  I  said  to  myself,  '  At  all 
events,  the  Society  does  not  countenance  injustice ;  it  will 
see  that  right  has  been  done.'  " 

The  face  of  the  man  had  grown  grave,  and  for  some  time 
he  did  not  speak. 

"  I  see  what  you  suggest,  Natalie,"  he  said  at  length.  "  It 
is  a  serious  matter.  I  should  have  said  yo.ir  suspicions  were 
idle — that  the  thing  was  impossible — but  for  the  fact  that  it 

has  occurred  before.  Strange,  now,  if  old ,  whose  wisdom 

and  foresight  the  world  is  beginning  to  recognize  now,  should 
be  proved  to  be  wise  on  this  point  too,  as  on  so  many  others. 
He  used  always  to  say  to  us  :  '  When  once  you  find  a  man 
unfaithful,  never  trust  him  after.  When  once  a  man  has  al- 
lowed himself  to  put  his  personal  advantage  before  his  duty 


AN  APPEAL.  343 

to  such  a  society  as  yours,  it  shows  that  somewhere  or  other 
there  is  in  him  the  leaven  of  a  self-seeker,  which  is  fatal  to 
all  societies.  Impose  the  heaviest  penalties  on  such  an  of- 
fence ;  cast  him  out  when  you  have  the  opportunity.'  It 
would  be  strange,  indeed  ;  it  would  be  like  fate  ;  it  would  ap- 
pear as  though  the  thing  were  in  the  blood,  and  must  come 
out,  no  matter  what  warning  the  man  may  have  had  before. 
You  know,  Natalie,  what  your  husband  had  to  endure  for  his 
former  lapse  ? " 

She  nodded  her  head. 

For  some  time  he  was  again  silent,  and  there  was  a  deeper 
air  of  reflection  on  his  face  than  almost  seemed  natural  to  it, 
for  he  looked  more  of  a  soldier  than  a  thinker. 

"  If  there  were  any  formality,"  he  said,  almost  to  himself, 
"  in  the  proceedings,  one  might  have  just  cause  to  intervene. 
But  your  husband,  my  Natalie,"  he  continued,  addressing  her 
directly,  "  is  well  trusted  by  us.  He  has  done  us  long  and 
faithful  service.  We  should  be  slow  to  put  any  slight  upon 
him,  especially  that  of  suspicion." 

"  That,  Stefan,"  said  Natalie's  mother,  with  courage,  "  is  a 
small  matter,  surely,  compared  with  the  possibility  of  your 
letting  this  man  go  to  his  death  unjustly.  You  would  counte- 
nance, then,  an  act  of  private  revenge  ?  That  is  the  use  you 
would  let  the  powers  of  your  Society  be  put  to  ?  That  is  not 
what  Janecki,  what  Rausch,  what  Falevitch  looked  forward 
to." 

The  taunt  was  quite  lost  on  him ;  he  was  calmly  regarding 
Natalie.  She  had  not  stirred.  After  that  one  outburst  of 
despairing  appeal  there  was  no  more  for  her  to  say  or  to  do. 
She  could  wait,  mutely,  and  hear  what  the  fate  of  her  lover 
was  to  be. 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  the  general,  turning  and  looking  up 
at  the  vast  pink  frontage  of  the  villa,  "  There  are  no  papers 
here  that  one  can  appeal  to.  I  only  secured  the  temporary 
use  of  the  villa,  as  being  a  more  fitting  place  than  some  to 
receive  the  signorina  your  daughter.  But  it  is  possible  the 
Secretary  may  remember  something  ;  he  has  a  good  memory. 
Will  you  excuse  me,  Natalie,  for  a  few  moments  ? " 

He  strode  away  toward  the  house.  The  mother  went  over 
to  her  daughter,  and  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Courage,  Natalushka  !  You  must  not  despair  yet.  Ah, 
rny  old  friend  Stefan  has  a  kind  heart ;  there  were  tears  in 
his  eyes  when  he  turned  away  from  your  appeal  to  him.  He 
does  not  forget  old  associates." 

Von  Zoesch  almost  immediately  returned,  still  looking  pre- 


344  S 

occupied.  He  drew  Natalie's  mother  aside  a  few  steps,  and 
said, 

"  This  much  I  may  tell  you,  Natalie  ;  in  the  proceedings 
four  were  concerned — your  husband,  Mr.  Brand,  Beratinsky, 
Reitzei.  What  do  you  know  of  these  last  two  ?  " 

"  I  ?     Alas,  Stefan,  I  know  nothing  of  them  !  " 

"  And  we  here  little.  They  are  your  husband's  appoint- 
ment. I  may  also  tell  you,  Natalie,  that  the  Secretary  is 
also  of  my  opinion,  that  it  is  very  unlikely  your  husband 
would  be  so  audacious  as  to  repeat  his  offence  of  former 
years,  by  conspiring  to  fix  this  duty  on  this  man  to  serve  his 
own  interests.  It  would  be  too  audacious,  unless  his  temper 
had  outrun  his  reason  altogether." 

"  But  you  must  remember,  Stefan,"  she  said,  eagerly, 
"  that  there  was  no  one  in  England  who  knew  that  former 
story.  He  could  not  imagine  that  I  was  to  be,  unhappily,  set 
free  to  go  to  my  daughter — that  1  should  be  at  her  side  when 
this  trouble  fell  on  her — " 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  he,  gently  interrupting  her,  "  you 
have  appealed  to  us  :  we  will  inquire.  It  will  be  a  delicate 
affair.  If  there  has  been  any  complicity,  any  unfairness,  to 
summon  these  men  hither  would  be  to  make  firmer  confeder- 
ates of  them  than  ever.  If  one  could  get  at  them  separately, 
individually — " 

He  kept  pressing  his  white  mustache  into  his  teeth  with 
his  forefinger. 

"  If  Calabressa  were  not  such  a  talker,"  he  said,  absently. 
"But  he  has  ingenuity,  the  feather-brained  devil." 

"  Stefan,  I  could  trust  everything  to  Calabressa,"  she  said. 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  detain  you.  If 
you  remain  at  the  same  hotel  we  shall  be  able  to  communicate 
with  you.  I  presume  your  carraige  is  outside  ? " 

"  It  is  waiting  for  us  a  little  way  off." 

He  accompanied  them  into  the  tessellated  court-yard,  but 
not  to  the  gate.  He  bade  good-bye  to  his  elder  friend  ;  then 
he  took  the  younger  lady's  hand  and  held  it,  and  regarded 
her. 

"  Figliuola  mia,"  he  said,  with  a  kindly  glance,  "  I  pity  you 
if  you  have  to  suffer.  We  will  hope  for  better  things  :  if  it  is 
impossible,  you  have  a  brave  heart." 

When  they  had  left  he  went  up  the  marble  staircase  and 
along  the  empty  corridor  until  he  reached  a  certain  room. 

"  Granaglia,  can  you  tell  me  where  our  friend  Calabressa 
may  happen  to  be  at  this  precise  moment  ?  " 

"  At  Brindisi,  I  believe,  Excellenza." 


EMISSARY. 


345 


"  At  Brindisi  still.  The  clevil  of  a  fellow  is  not  so  impa- 
tient as  I  had  expected.  Ah,  well.  Have  the  goodness  to 
send  for  him,  friend  Granaglia,  and  bid  him  come  with  speed." 

"  Most  willingly,  Excellenza." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

AN    EMISSARY. 

ONE  warm,  still  afternoon  Calabressa  was  walking  quickly 
along  the  crowded  quays  of  Naples,  when  he  was  beset  by  a 
more  than  usually  importunate  beggar — a  youth  of  about 
twelve,  almost  naked. 

"  Something  for  bread,  signore — for  the  love  of  God — my 
father  taken  to  heaven,  my  mother  starving — bread,  sig- 
nore— " 

"  To  the  devil  with  you  !  "  said  Calabressa. 

"  May  you  burst ! "  replied  the  polite  youth,  and  he  tried 
to  kick  Calabressa's  legs  and  make  off  at  the  same  time. 

This  feat  he  failed  in,  so  that,  as  he  was  departing,  Cala- 
bressa hit  him  a  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head  which  sent  him 
rolling.  Then  there  was  a  howl,  and  presently  there  was  a 
universal  tumult  of  women,  calling  out,  "  Ah,  the  German  ! 
ah,  the  foreigner ! "  and  so  forth,  and  drawing  threateningly 
near.  Calabressa  sought  in  his  pockets  for  a  handful  of  small 
copper  coins,  turned,  threw  them  high  in  the  air,  and  did  not 
stay  to  watch  the  effect  of  the  shower  on  the  heads  of  the 
women,  but  walked  quietly  away. 

However,  in  thus  suddenly  turning,  he  had  caught  sight — 
even  with  his  near-sighted  eyes — of  an  unwholesome-looking 
young  man,  pale,  clean-shaven,  with  bushy  black  hair,  whom 
he  recognized.  He  appeared  to  pay  no  attention,  but  walked 
quickly  on.  Taking  one  or  two  unnecessary  turnings,  he  be- 
came convinced  that  the  young  man,  as  he  had  suspected, 
was  following  him ;  then,  without  more  ado,  and  even  with- 
out looking  behind  him,  he  set  out  for  his  destination,  which 
was  Posilipo. 

In  due  course  of  time  he  began  to  ascend  the  wooded  hill 
with  its  villas  and  walls  and  cactus-hedges.  At  a  certain 
turning,  where  he  could  not  be  observed  by  any  one  behind 
him,  he  turned  sharp  off  to  the  left,  and  stood  behind  a 
wooden  gate ;  a  couple  of  minutes  afterward  the  young  man 


346 

came  along,  more  rapidly  now,  for  he  no  doubt  fancied  that 
Calabressa  had  disappeared  ahead-. 

Calabressa  stepped  out  from  his  hiding-place,  went  after 
him,  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  He  turned,  stared, 
and  endeavored  to  appear  angry  and  astonished. 

"  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Calabressa,  with  calm  sarcasm ; 
"  at  your  disposition,  signore.  So  we  were  not  satisfied  with 
selling  photographs  and  pebbles  to  the  English  on  board  the 
steamer ;  we  want  to  get  a  little  Judas  money ;  we  sell  our- 
selves to  the  weasels,  the  worms,  the  vermin — " 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  signore — "  the  shaven-faced  youth  ex- 
claimed, much  more  humbly. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  too,  signore,"  Calabressa  continued, 
facetiously.  "  And  you,  you  poor  innocent,  you  have  not 
been  with  the  weasels  six  weeks  when  you  think  you  will  try 
your  nose  in  tracking  me.  Body  of  Bacchus,  it  is  too  inso- 
lent ! " 

"  I  assure  yon,  signore — " 

"  Now,  behold  this,  my  friend  ;  we  must  give  children  like 
you  a  warning.  If  you  had  been  a  little  older,  and  not  quite 
so  foolish,  I  should  have  had  you  put  on  the  Black  List  of 
my  friends  the  Camorristi — you  understand?  But  you — we 
will  cure  you  otherwise.  You  know  the  Englishman's  yacht 
that  has  come  into  the  Great  Harbor — " 

"  Signore,  I  beg  of  you — " 

"  Beg  of  the  devil !  "  said  Calabressa,  calmly.  "  Between 
the  Englishman's  yacht  and  the  Little  Mole  you  will  find  a 
schooner  moored — her  name,  La  Svezia  ;  do  not  forget — La 
Svezia.  To-morrow  you  will  go  on  board  of  her,  ask  for  the 
captain,  go  down  below,  and  beg  him  to  be  so  kind  as  to  give 
you  twelve  stripes — " 

"Signore—" 

"  Another  word,  mouchard,  and  I  make  it  twenty.  He  will 
give  you  a  receipt,  which  you  will  sign,  and  bring  to  me ; 
otherwise,  down  goes  your  name  on  the  list.  Which  do  you 
prefer  ?  Oh,  we  will  teach  some  of  you  young  weasels  a  les- 
son !  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  a  good  morning." 

Calabressa  touched  his  hat  politely,  and  walked  on,  leaving 
the  young  man  petrified  with  rage  and  fear. 

By-and-by  he  began  to  walk  more  leisurely  and  with  more 
circumspection,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout,  as  well  as  his  near- 
sighted eyes  allowed,  on  any  passer-by  or  vehicle  he  hap- 
pened to  meet.  At  length,  and  with  the  same  precautions  he 
had  used  on  a  former  bccasion,  he  entered  the  grounds  of 
the  villa  he  had  sought  out  in  the  company  of  Gathorne  Ed- 


AN  EMISSARY.  347 

wards,  and  made  his  way  up  to  the  fountain  on  the  little 
plateau.  But  now  his  message  had  been  previously  pre- 
pared ;  he  dropped  it  into  the  receptacle  concealed  beneath 
the  lip  of  the  fountain,  and  then  descended  the  steep  little 
terraces  untill  he  got  round  to  the  entrance  of  the  grotto. 

Instead  of  passing  in  by  this  cleft  in  the  rockwork,  however, 
he  found  awaiting  him  there  the  person  who  had  summoned 
him — the  so-called  General  Von  Zoesch.  Calabressa  was 
somewhat  startled,  but  he  said,  "Your  humble  servant,  Ex- 
cellenza,"  and  removed  his  cap. 

"  Keep  your  hat  on  your  head,  friend  Calabressa,"  said  the 
other,  good-naturedly ;  "  you  are  as  old  as  I  am." 

He  seated  himself  on  a  projecting  ledge  of  the  rockwork, 
and  motioned  to  Calabressa  to  do  likewise  on  the  other  side 
of  the  entrance.  They  were  completely  screened  from  obser- 
vation by  a  mass  of  olive  and  fig  trees,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
far-stretching  orange  shubbery  beyond. 

"  The  Council  have  paid  you  a  high  compliment,  my  Cala- 
bressa," the  general  said,  plunging  at  once  into  the  matter. 
"  They  have  resolved  to  intrust  you  with  a  very  difficult  mis- 
sion." 

"  It  is  a  great  honor." 

"  You  won't  have  to  risk  your  neck,  which  will  no  doubt 
disappoint  you,  but  you  will  have  to  show  us  whether  there  is 
the  stuff  of  a  diplomatist  in  you." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  Excellenza,"  Callabressa  said  confidently, 
"  one  can  be  a  bavard  at  times,  for  amusement,  for  nonsense  ; 
and  one  can  at  times  be  silent  when  there  is  necessity." 

"  You  know  of  the  affair  of  Zaccatelli.  The  agent  has 
been  found,  as  we  desired  in  England.  I  understand  you 
know  him  ;  his  name  is  Brand." 

Calabressa  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Excellenza,  do  you  know  what  you  have  said  ?  You 
pierce  my  heart.  Why  he  of  all  those  in  England  ?  He  is 
the  betrothed  of  Natalie's  daughter — the  Natalie  Berezolyi, 
Excellenza,  who  married  Ferdinand  Lind — " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  other,  calmly.  "  I  have  seen  the 
young  lady.  She  is  a  beautiful  child." 

"  She  is  more  than  that — she  is  a  beautiful-souled  child  !  " 
said  Calabressa,  in  great  agitation ;  "  and  she  has  a  tender 
heart.  I  tell  you  it  will  kill  her,  Excellenza  !  Oh,  it  is  in- 
famous !  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of  !  "  He  jumped  to  his  feet 
and  spoke  in  a  rapid,  excited  way.  "  I  say  it  is  not  to  be 
thought  of.  I  appeal — I,  Calabressa — to  the  honorable  the 
members  of  the  Council :  I  say  that  I  am  ready  to  be  his 


34S  S 

substitute — they  cannot  deny  me — I  appeal  to  the  laws  of 
the  Society — "' 

"  Calm  yourself — calm  yourself,"  said  the  general ;  but 
Calabressa  would  not  be  calm. 

"  I  will  not  have  my  beautiful  child  have  this  grief  put 
upon  her ! — you,  Excellenza,  will  help  my  appeal  to  the  Coun- 
cil— they  cannot  refuse  me — what  use  am  I  to  anybody  or 
myself  ?  I  say  that  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend  Natalie 
shall  not  have  her  lover  taken  from  her ;  it  is  I,  Calabressa, 
who  claim  to  be  his  substitute  ! " 

"  Friend  Calabressa,  I  desire  you  to  sit  down  and  listen. 
The  story  is  brief  that  I  have  to  tell  you.  This  man  Brand  is 
chosen  by  the  usual  ballot.  The  young  lady  does  not  know 
for  what  duty,  of  course,  but  believes  it  will  cost  him  his  life. 
She  is  in  trouble ;  she  recollects  your  giving  her  some  in- 
structions ;  what  does  she  do  but  start  off  at  once  for  Naples, 
to  put  her  head  right  into  the  den  of  the  black  bear  Tom- 
maso  ! " 

"  Ah,  the  brave  little  one  !  She  did  not  forget  Calabressa 
and  the  little  map,  then  ? " 

"  I  have  seen  her  and  her  mother." 

"  Her  mother,  also  ?     Here,  in  Naples,  now  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Great  Heaven  !  What  a  fool  I  was  to  come  through  Na- 
ples and  not  to  know — but  I  was  thinking  of  that  little 
viper." 

"  You  will  now  be  good  enough  to  listen,  my  Calabressa." 

"  I  beg  your  Excellency's  pardon  a  thousand  times." 

"  It  appears  that  both  mother  and  daughter  are  beset  with 
the  suspicion  that  this  duty  has  been  put  upon  their  English 
friend  by  unfair  means.  At  first  I  said  to  myself  these  sus- 
picions were  foolish ;  they  now  appear  to  me  more  reason- 
able. You,  at  all  events,  are  acquainted  with  the  old  story 
against  Ferdinand  Lind ;  you  know  how  he  forfeited  his  life 
to  the  Society  ;  how  it  was  given  back  to  him.  You  would 
think  it  impossible  he  would  risk  such  another  adventure. 
Well,  perhaps  I  wrong  him ;  but  there  is  a  possibility ;  there 
are  powerful  reasons,  I  can  gather,  why  he  should  wish  to 
get  rid  of  this  Englishman." 

Calabressa  said  nothing  now,  but  he  was  greatly  excited. 

"  We  had  been  urging  him  about  money,  Calabressa  mio — 
that  I  will  explain  to  you.  It  has  been  coining  in  slowest  of 
all  from  England,  the  richest  of  the  countries,  and  just  when 
we  had  so  much  need.  Then,  again,  there  is  a  vacancy  in 
the  Council,  and  Lind  has  a  wish  that  way.  What  happens  ? 


AN  EMISSARY.  349 

He  tries  to  induce  the  Englishman  to  take  an  officership  and 
give  us  his  fortune  ;  the  Englishman  refuses  ;  he  says  then, 
*  Part  from  my  daughter,  and  go  to  America.'  The  daughter 
says,  *  If  he  goes,  I  follow.'  You  perceive,  my  friend,  that  if 
this  story  is  true,  and  it  is  consecutive  and  minute  as  I  received 
it,  there  was  a  reason  for  our  colleague  Lind  to  be  angry,  and 
to  be  desirous  of  making  it  certain  that  this  Englishman  who 
had  opposed  him  should  not  have  his  daughter." 

"  I  perceive  it  well,  Excellenza.     Meanwhile  ?" 

"  Meanwhile,  that  is  all.  Only,  when  an  old  friend — when 
one  who  has  such  claims  on  our  Society  as  a  Berezolyi  natur- 
ally has — comes  and  tells  you  such  a  story,  you  listen  with 
attention  and  respect.  You  may  believe,  or  you  may  not  be- 
lieve ;  one  prefers  not  to  believe  when  the  matter  touches 
upon  the  faith  of  a  colleague  who  has  been  trustworthy  for 
many  years.  But  at  the  same  time,  if  the  Council,  being  ap- 
pealed to,  and  being  anxious  above  all  things  that  no  wrong 
should  be  done,  were  to  find  an  agent — prudent,  silent,  cau- 
tious— who  might  be  armed  with  plenary  powers  of  pardon, 
for  example,  supposing  there  were  an  accomplice  to  be  bribed 
— if  the  Council  were  to  commission  such  a  one  as  you,  my 
Calabressa,  to  institute  inquiries,  and  perhaps  to  satisfy  those 
two  appellants  that  no  injustice  has  been  done,  you  would 
undertake  the  task  with  diligence,  with  a  sense  of  responsi- 
bility, would  you  not  ?  " 

"  With  joy — with  a  full  heart,  Excellenza!"  Calabressa  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all — with  prudence  and  disinterestedness  ; 
with  calmness  and  no  prejudice  ;  and,  above  all,  with  a  reso- 
lution to  conceal  from  our  friend  and  colleague  Lind  that  any 
slight  of  suspicion  is  being  put  upon  him." 

"  Oh,  you  can  trust  me,  Excellenza  ! "  Calabressa  said, 
eagerly. 

"  Let  me  do  this  for  the  sake  of  the  sweetheart  of  my  old 
age — that  is  that  beautiful-souled  little  one  ;  and  if  I  cannot 
bring  her  peace  and  security  one  way — mind,  I  go  without 
prejudice — I  swear  to  you  I  go  without  bias — I  will  harm  no 
one  even  in  intention — but  this  I  say,  that  if  I  fail  that  way 
there  is  another." 

"  You  have  seen  the  two  men,  Beratinsky  and  Reitzei,  who 
were  of  the  ballot  along  with  Lind  and  the  Englishman.  To 
me  they  are  but  names.  Describe  them  to  me." 

"  Beratinsky,"  said  Calabressa,  promptly,  "  a  bear — surly, 
pig-headed  ;  Reitzei,  a  fop — sinuous,  petted." 


350  SUNRISE. 

"  Which  would  be  the  more  easily  started,  for  example  ?  " 
the  tall  man  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  your  Excellency,  leave  that  to  me,"  Calabressa  an- 
swered. "  Give  me  no  definite  instructions  :  am  I  not  a  volun- 
teer ? — can  I  not  do  as  I  please,  always  with  the  risk  that  one 
may  knock  me  over  the  head  if  I  am  impertinent  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  leave  it  to  your  discretion,  friend  Cala- 
bressa, to  your  ingenuity,  and  your  desire  to  have  justice  with- 
out bias,  have  you  money  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Excellenza." 

"  The  Secretary  Granaglia  will  communicate  with  you  this 
evening.  You  can  start  at  once  ? " 

"  By  the  direct  train  to-morrow  morning  at  seven,  Excel- 
lenza." Then  he  added,  "  Oh,  the  devil ! " 

"What  now?" 

"  There  was  a  young  fellow,  Excellenza,  committed  the  im- 
prudence of  dogging  my  footsteps  this  afternoon.  I  know 
him.  I  stopped  him  and  referred  him  to  the  captain  of  the 
schooner  La  Svezia :  he  was  to  bring  me  the  receipt  to  mor- 
row." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  general,  laughing ; 4<  we  will  look 
after  him  when  he  goes  on  board.  Now  do  you  understand, 
friend  Calabressa,  the  great  delicacy  of  the  mission  the  Coun- 
cil have  intrusted  to  you  ?  You  must  be  patient,  sure,  unbi- 
assed ;  and  if,  as  I  imagine,  Lind  and  you  were  not  the  best 
of  friends  at  one  time  in  your  life,  you  must  forget  all  that.  You 
are  not  going  as  the  avenger  of  his  daughter ;  you  are  going  as 
the  minister  of  justice — only  you  have  power  behind  you  ; 
that  you  can  allow  to  be  known  indirectly.  Do  you  under- 
stand ? " 

"  It  is  as  clear  as  the  noonday  skies.  Confide  in  me,  Ex- 
cellenza." The  other  rose. 

"  Use  speed,  my  Calabressa.     Farewell ! " 

"  One  word,  Excellenza.  If  it  is  not  too  great  a  favor,  the 
hotel  where  my  beautiful  Natalushka  and  her  mother  are 
staying  ? " 

The  other  gave  him  the  name  of  the  hotel ;  and  Calabressa, 
saluting  him  respectfully,  departed,  making  his  way  down 
through  the  terraces  of  fruit-trees  under  the  clear  twilight  skies. 

Calabressa  walked  back  to  Naples,  and  to  the  hotel  indicated, 
which  was  near  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo.  No  sooner  had  the 
hotel  porter  opened  for  him  the  big  swinging  doors  than  he 
recollected  that  he  did  not  know  for  whom  he  ought  to  ask ; 
but  at  this  moment  Natalie  came  along  the  corridor,  dressed  and 
ready  to  go  out. 


AN  EMISSARY.  351 

"  My  little  daughter ! "  he  exclaimed,  taking  her  by  both 
hands,  "  did  not  I  say  you  would  soon  find  me  when  there  was 
need  ? " 

"  Will  you  come  up-steirs  and  see  my  mother,  Signer  Cala- 
bressa  ?  "  said  she.  "  You  know  why  she  and  I  are  together 
now  ? — my  grandfather  is  dead." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  and  see  your  mother,"  said  he,  after  a  second : 
she  did  not  notice  the  strange  expression  of  his  face  during 
that  brief  hesitation. 

There  was  a  small  sitting-room  between  the  two  bedrooms ; 
Natalie  conducted  him  into  it,  and  went  into  the  adjoining 
chamber  for  her  mother.  A  minute  after  these  two  friends 
and  companions  of  former  days  met.  They  held  each  other's 
hand  in  silence  for  a  brief  time. 

"  My  hair  was  not  so  gray  when  you  last  saw  me,"  the  worn- 
faced  woman  said,  at  length,  with  a  smile. 

Calabressa  could  not  speak  at  all. 

"  Mother,"  the  girl  said,  to  break  in  on  this  painful  embarrass- 
ment, "  you  have  not  seen  Signer  Calabressa  for  so  long  a  time. 
Will  he  not  stay  and  dine  with  us  ?  the  tabk-d'hote,  is  at  half- 
past  six." 

"  Not  the  tabk-d 'hote,  my  little  daughter,"  Calabressa  said. 
"  But  if  one  were  permitted  to  remain  here,  for  example — " 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly." 

"  There  are  many  things  I  wish  to  speak  about ;  and  so  little 
time.  To-morrow  morning  I  start  for  England." 

"  For  England  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly,  little  daughter.  And  you  have  a  message, 
perhaps,  for  me  to  carry  ?  Oh,  you  may  let  it  be  cheerful,"  he 
said,  with  his  usual  gay  optimism.  "  I  tell  you — I  myself,  and 
I  do  not  boast — let  it  be  cheerful !  What  did  I  say  to  you  ? 
You  are  in  trouble ;  I  said  to  you,  count  upon  having  friends ! " 

Calabressa  did  stay ;  and  they  had  a  kind  of  meal  in  this 
room ;  and  there  was  a  great  deal  to  talk  over  between  the 
two  old  friends.  But  on  all  matters  referring  to  the  moment 
he  preserved  a  resolute  silence.  He  was  not  going  to  talk  at 
the  very  outset.  He  was  going  to  England — that  was  all. 

But  as  he  was  bidding  good-bye  to  Natalie,  he  drew  her  a 
step  or  two  into  the  passage. 

"Little  child,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "your  mother  is  suf- 
fering because  of  your  sorrow.  It  is  needless.  I  assure  you 
all  will  be  well :  have  I  spoken  in  vain  before  ?  It  is  not  for 
one  bearing  the  name  that  you  have  to  despair." 

"  Good-bye,  then,  Signor  Calabressa." 

"Au  revoir,  child :  is  not  that  better  ? " 


352  SUNRISE. 

CHAPTER  L. 

A   WEAK    BROTHER. 

GEORGE  BRAND  was  sitting  alone  in  these  rooms  of  his,  the 
lamps  lit,  the  table  near  him  covered  with  papers.  He  had 
just  parted  with  two  visitors — Molyneux  and  a  certain 
learned  gentleman  attached  to  Owens  College — who  had 
come  to  receive  his  final  plans  and  hints  as  to  what  still  lay 
before  them  in  the  north.  On  leaving,  the  fresh-colored, 
brisk-voiced  Molyneux  had  said  to  him, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Brand,  seeing  you  so  eager  about  what  has  to 
be  done  up  there,  one  might  wonder  at  your  leaving  us  and 
going  off  pleasuring.  But  no  matter;  a  man  must  have  his 
holiday;  so  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey,  and  we'll  do  our 
best  till  you  come  back." 

So  that  also  was  settled.  In  fact,  he  had  brought  all  his  affairs 
up  to  a  point  that  would  enable  him  to  start  at  any  moment. 
But  about  Natalie  ?  He  had  not  heard  from  her  through  any 
channel  whatever.  He  had  not  the  least  idea  whither  she  had 
gone.  Moreover,  he  gathered  from  Reitzei  that  her  father — 
who,  in  Reitzei's  opinion,  could  at  once  have  discovered  where 
she  was — refused  to  trouble  himself  in  the  matter,  and,  indeed, 
would  not  permit  her  name  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sigh.  Of  what  value  to 
him  now  were  these  carefully  calculated  suggestions  about  dis- 
tricts, centres,  conveners,  and  what  not  ?  And  yet  he  had 
appeared  deeply  interested  while  his  two  visitors  were  present. 
For  the  time  being  the  old  eagerness  had  stirred  him ;  the 
pride  he  had  taken  in  his  own  work.  But  now  that  was 
passed  from  him ;  he  had  relinquished  his  stewardship ;  and 
as  he  absently  gazed  out  into  the  black  night  before  him, 
his  thoughts  drifted  far  away.  He  was  startled  from  his  rev- 
erie by  some  one  knocking  at  the  door.  Immediately  after 
Gathorne  Edwards  entered. 

"  Waters  said  I  should  find  you  alone,"  said  the  tall,  pale, 
blue-eyed  student.  "I  have  come  to  you  about  Kirski." 

"Sit  down.     Well?" 

"  It's  a  bad  business,"  he  said,  taking  a  chair,  and  looking 
rather  gloomy  and  uncomfortable.  "  He  has  taken  to  drink 
badly.  I  have  been  to  him,  talked  to  him,  but  I  have  no  in- 
fluence over  him,  apparently.  I  thought  perhaps  you  might 
do  something  with  him." 

"  Whv,  I  cannot  even  speak  to  him  !  " 


A    WEAK  BROTHER.  353 

"  Oh,  he  is  accustomed  to  make  much  out  of  a  few  words ; 
and  I  would  go  with  you." 

"  But  what  is  the  occasion  of  all  this  ?  How  can  he  have 
taken  to  drink  in  so  short  a  time  ?  " 

"  A  man  can  drink  himself  into  a  pretty  queer  state  in  a  very 
short  time  when  he  sets  his  mind  to  it,"  Edwards  said.  "  He 
has  given  up  his  work  altogether,  and  is  steadily  boozing  away 
the  little  savings  he  had  made.  He  has  gone  back  to  his  blood 
and  kill,  too ;  wants  some  one  to  go  with  him  to  murder  that 
fellow  out  in  Russia  who  first  of  all  took  his  wife,  and  then 
beat  him  and  set  dogs  on  him.  The  fact  is,  Calabressa's 
cure  has  gone  all  to  bits." 

"It  is  a  pity.  The  unfortunate  wretch  has  had  enough 
trouble.  But  what  is  the  cause  of  it  ? " 

"  It  is  rather  difficult  to  explain,"  said  Edwards  with  some 
embarrassment.  "  One  can  only  guess,  for  his  brain  is  mud- 
dled, and  he  maunders.  You  know  Calabressa's  flowery, 
poetical  interpretation.  It  was  Miss  Lind,  in  fact,  who  had 
worked  a  miracle.  Well,  there  was  something  in  it.  She  was 
kind  to  him,  after  he  had  been  cuffed  about  Europe,  and  a 
sort  of  passion  of  gratitude  took  possession  of  him.  Then  he 
was  led  to  believe  at  that  time  that — that  he  might  be  of  ser- 
vice to  her  or  her  friends,  and  he  gave  up  his  projects  of  re- 
venge altogether — he  was  ready  for  any  sacrifice — and,  in  fact, 
there  was  a  project — "  Edwards  glanced  at  his  companion ; 
but  Brand  happened  at  that  moment  to  be  looking  out  of  the 
window. 

"Well,  you  see,  all  that  fell  through;  and  he  had  to  come 
back  to  England  disappointed ;  then  there  was  no  Calabressa 
to  keep  him  up  to  his  resolutions;  besides  that,  he  found  out 
— how,  I  do  not  know — that  Miss  Lind  had  left  London." 

"  Oh,  he  found  that  out  ?  " 

"  Apparently.  And  he  says  he  is  of  no  further  use  to  any- 
body ;  and  all  he  wants  is  to  kill  the  man  Michaieloff,  and  then 
make  an  end  of  himself." 

Brand  rose  at  once. 

"  We  must  go  and  see  the  unfortunate  devil,  Edwards.  His 
brain  never  was  steady,  you  know,  and  I  suppose  even  two  or 
three  days'  hard  drinking  has  made  him  wild  again.  And  just 
as  I  had  prepared  a  little  surprise  for  him !  " 

"  What  ? "  Edwards  asked,  as  he  opened  the  door. 

"  I  have  made  him  a  little  bequest  that  would  have  produced 
him  about  twenty  pounds  a  year,  to  pay  his  rent.  It  will  be 
no  kindness  to  give  it  to  him  until  we  see  him  straight 
again." 


354  SUNRISE. 

But  Edwaards  pushed  the  door  to  again,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice, 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Brand,  you  must  know  of  the  Zaccatelli 
affair  ? " 

Brand  regarded  him,  and  said,  calmly, 

"  I  do.  There  are  five  men  in  England  who  know  of  it ;  you 
and  I  are  two  of  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Edwards,  eagerly,  "  if  such  a  thing  were  deter- 
mined on,  wouldn't  it  have  been  better  to  let  this  poor  wretch 
do  it  ?  He  would  have  gloried  in  it ;  he  had  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  martyr  just  then  ;  he  thought  he  was  to  be  allowed  to 
do  something  that  would  make  Miss  Lind  and  her  friends  for- 
ever grateful  to  him." 

"And  who  put  it  into  his  head  that  Miss  Lind  knew  any- 
thing about  it? — Calabressa,  I  suppose." 

Edwards  colored  slightly. 

"  Well,  yes—" 

"  And  it  was  Calabressa  who  intrusted  such  a  secret  as  that 
to  a  maniac — " 

"  Pardon  me,  Kirski  never  knew  specifically  what  lay  before 
him  ;  but  he  was  ready  for  anything.  For  my  own  part,  I  was 
heartily  glad  when  they  sent  him  back  to  England.  I  did  not 
wish  to  have  any  hand  in  such  a  business,  however  indirectly ; 
and,  indeed,  I  hope  they  have  abandoned  the  whole  project  by 
this  time." 

"  It  might  be  wiser,  certainly,"  said  Brand,  with  an  indiffer- 
ent air. 

"  If  they  go  on  with  it,  it  will  make  a  fearful  noise  in  Eu- 
rope," said  Edwards,  contemplatively.  "  The  assassination  of  a 
cardinal !  Well,  his  life  has  been  scandalous  enough — but  still, 
his  death,  in  such  a  way — " 

"  It  will  horrify  people,  will  it  not  ?  "  Brand  said,  calmly ;  and 
his  murderer  will  be  execrated  and  howled  at  throughout  Eu- 
rope, no  doubt ! " 

"  Well,  yes  ;  you  see,  who  is  to  know  the  motives  ?  " 

"  There  wont  be  a  single  person  to  say  a  single  word  for 
him,"  said  Brand,  absently.  "  It  is  an  enviable  fate,  isn't  it,  for 
some  wretched  mortal  ?  No  matter,  Edwards  ;  we  will  go  and 
look  up  this  fellow  Kirski  now." 

They  went  out  into  the  night — it  was  cold  and  drizzling — and 
made  their  way  up  into  Soho.  They  knocked  at  the  door  of  a 
shabby-looking  house  ;  and  Kirski's  landlady  made  her  appear- 
ance. She  was  very  angry  when  his  name  was  mentioned ;  of 
course  he  was  not  at  home  ;  they  would  find  him  in  some  public- 
house  or  other — the  animal  ! 


A   WEAK  BROTHER.  355 

"  But*he  pays  his  rent,  doesn't  he  ? "  Brand  remonstrated. 

Oh  yes,  he  paid  his  rent.  But  she  didn't  like  a  wild  beast  in 
the  house.  It  was  decent  lodgings  she  kept  ;  not  a  Womb- 
well's  Menagerie. 

"  I  am  sure  he  gives  you  no  trouble,  ma'am,"  said  Edwards, 
who  had  seen  something  of  the  meek  and  submissive  way  the 
Russian  conducted  himself  in  his  lodgings. 

This  she  admitted,  but  promptly.asked  how  she  was  to  know 
she  mightn't  have  her  throat  cut  some  night  ?  And  what  was 
the  use  of  her  talking  to  him,  when  he  didn't  know  two  words 
of  a  Christian  language  ? 

They  gathered  from  this  that  the  good  woman  had  been  lect- 
uring her  docile  lodger,  and  had  been  seriously  hurt  because  of 
his  inattention.  However,  she  at  last  consented  to  give  them 
the  name  of  the  particular  public-house  in  which  he  was  likely  to 
be  found,  and  they  again  set  off  in  quest  of  him. 

They  found  him  easily.  He  was  seated  in  a  corner  of  the 
crowded  and  reeking  bar-room  by  himself,  nursing  a  glass  of 
gin-and-water  with  his  two  trembling  hands.  When  they  en- 
tered, he  looked  up  and  regarded  them  with  bleared,  sunken 
eyes,  evidently  recognized  them,  and  then  turned  away  sullenly. 

"  Tell  him  I  am  not  come  to  bully  him,"  said  Brand  quickly. 
"  Tell  him  I  am  come  about  some  work.  I  want  a  cabinet  made 
by  a  first-class  workman  like  himself." 

Edwards  went  forward  and  put  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder 
and  spoke  to  him  for  some  time ;  then  he  turned  to  Brand. 

"  He  says,  '  No  use ;  no  use.'  He  cannot  work  any  more. 
They  won't  give  him  help  to  kill  Pavel  Michaieloff .  He  wishes 
to  die." 

"  Ask  him,  then,  what  the  young  lady  who  gave  him  her  por- 
trait will  think  of  him  if  she  hears  he  is  in  this  condition.  Ask 
him  how  he  has  dared  to  bring  her  portrait  into  a  place  like  this." 

When  this  was  conveyed  to  Kirski,  he  seemed  to  arouse  him- 
self somewhat;  he  even  talked  eagerly  for  a  few  seconds;  then 
he  turned  away  again,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  be  seen. 

"He  says,"  Edwards  continued,  "  that  he  has  not,  that  he 
would  not  bring  that  portrait  into  any  such  place.  He  was 
afraid  it  might  be  found — it  might  be  taken  from  him.  He 
made  a  small  casket  of  oak,  carved  by  his  own  hands,  and  lined 
it  with  zinc ;  he  put  the  photograph  in  it,  and  hid  himself  in  the 
trees  of  St.  James's  Park — at  least,  I  imagine  that  St.  James's 
Park  is  what  he  means — at  night.  Then  he  buried  it  there. 
He  knows  the  place.  When  he  has  killed  Michaieloff  he 
will  come  back  and  dig  it  up." 


356  S 

"The  poor  devil — his  brain  is  certainly  going,  drink  or  no 
drink.  What  is  to  be  done  with  him,  Edwards  ?  " 

"  He  says  the  young  ]  ady  has  gone  away.  He  cares  for  noth- 
ing. He  is  of  no  use.  He  despairs  of  getting  enough  money  to 
take  him  back  to  Russia." 

After  a  great  deal  of  persuasion,  however,  they  got  him  to 
leave  the  public-house  with  them  and  return  to  his  lodgings. 
They  got  him  some  tea  an d'some  bread-and-butter,  and  made 
him  swallow  both.  Then  Edwards,  under  his  friend's  instruc- 
tions, proceeded  to  impress  on  Kirski  that  the  young  lady  was 
only  away  from  London  for  a  short  time ;  that  she  would  be 
greatly  distressed  if  she  were  to  hear  he  had  been  misconduct- 
ing himself  ;  that,  if  he  returned  to  his  work  on  the  following 
morning,  he  would  find  that  his  master  would  overlook  his 
absence  ;  and  that  finally,  he  was  to  abandon  his  foolish  notions 
about  going  to  Russia,  for  he  would  find  no  one  to  assist  him  ; 
whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  went  about  proclaiming  that 
he  was  about  to  commit  a  crime,  he  would  be  taken  by  the 
police  and  shut  up.  All  this,  and  a  great  deal  more,  they 
tried  to  impress  on  him ;  and  Edwards  promised  to  call  the 
next  evening  and  see  how  he  was  getting  on. 

It  was  late  when  Brand  and  Edwards  again  issued  out  into 
the  wet  night;  and  Edwards,  having  promised  to  post  a  line 
to  Kirski's  employers,  so  that  they  should  get  it  in  the  morn- 
ing, said  good-bye,  and  went  off  to  his  own  lodgings.  Brand 
walked  slowly  home  through  the  muddy  streets.  He  preferred 
the  glare  and  the  noise  to  the  solitude  of  his  own  rooms. 
He  even  stood  aimlessly  to  watch  a  theatre  come  out ;  the 
people  seemed  so  careless  and  joyous — calling  to  each  othe^ 
— making  feeble  jokes — passing  away  under  their  umbrellas 
into  the  wet  and  shining  darkness. 

But  at  length,  without  any  definite  intention,  he  found  him- 
self at  the  foot  of  the  little  thoroughfare  in  which  he  lived ; 
and  he  was  about  to  open  the  door  with  his  latch-key  when 
out  of  the  dusk  beyond  there  stepped  forth  a  tall  figure. 
He  was  startled,  it  is  true,  by  the  apparition  of  this  tall, 
white-haired  man  in  the  voluminous  blue  cloak,  the  upturned 
hood  of  which  half  concealed  his  face,  and  he  turned  with  a 
sort  of  instinct  of  anger  to  face  him. 

<;  Monsieur  mon  frere,  you  have  arrived  at  last ! "  said  the 
stranger,  and  instantly  he  recognized  in  the  pronunciation  of 
the  French  the  voice  of  Calabressa. 

"  What !  "  he  said  ;  "  Calabressa  ? " 

The  other  put  a  finger  on  his  arm. 

"  Hush  !  "  he   said.     "  It  is  a  great  secret,  my  being  here  : 


A    WEAK  BROTHER.  357 

I  confide  in  you.  I  would  not  wait  in  your  rooms — my  faith, 
no!  for  I  said  to  myself,  'What  if  he  brings  home  friends 
who  will  know  me,  who  will  ask  what  the  devil  Calabressa  is 
doing  in  this  country.'  " 

Brand  had  withdrawn  his  hand  from  the  lock. 

"  Calabressa,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  you,  if  anybody  knows, 
must  know  where  Natalie  and  her  mother  are.  jfell  me  !  " 

"  I  will  directly ;  but  may  I  point  out  to  you,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Brand,  that  it  rains — that  we  might  go  inside  ?  Oh  yes, 
certainly,  I  will  tell  you  when  we  can  say  a  word  in  secret,  'in 
comfort.  But  this  devil  of  a  climate  !  What  should  I  have 
done  if  I  had  not  bought  myself  this  cloak  in  Paris  ?  In 
Paris  it  was  cold  and  wet  enough ;  but  one  had  nothing  like 
what  you  have  here,  Sapristi !  my  fingers  are  frozen." 

Brand  hurried  him  up-stairs,  put  him  into  an  easy-chair,  and 
stirred  up  the  fire. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  impatiently — "  now,  my  dear  Calabressa, 
your  news !  " 

Calabressa  pulled  out  a  letter. 

"  The  news — voila  !  " 

Brand  tore  open  the  envelope ;  these  were  the  contents : 

"  DEAREST, — This  is  to  adjure  you  not  to  leave  England 
for  the  present — not  till  you  hear  from  me — or  until  we  re- 
turn. Have  patience,  and  hope.  You  are  not  forgotten. 
My  mother  sends  you  her  blessing.  YOUR  BETROTHED." 

"  But  there  is  no  address  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Where  are 
they  ? " 

"  Where  are  they  ?  It  is  no  secret,  do  you  see  ?  They  are 
in  Naples." 

"In  Naples!" 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  my  dear  friend,  it  is  a  noble  heart,  a 
brave  heart,  that  loves  you.  Many  a  day  ago  I  said  to  her, 
*  Little  child,  when  you  are  in  trouble,  go  to  friends  who  will 
welcome  you  ;  say  you  are  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi ; 
say  to  them  that  Calabressa  sent  you.'  And  you  thought  she 
was  in  no  trouble !  Ah,  did  she  not  tell  me  of  the  pretty 
home  you  had  got  for  the  poor  mother  who  is  my  old  friend  ? 
did  she  not  tell  me  how  you  thought  they  were  to  be  comfort- 
able there,  and  take  no  heed  of  anything  else  ?  But  you  were 
mistaken.  You  did  not  know  her.  She  said,  '  My  betrothed 
is  in  danger  :  I. will  take  Calabressa  at  his  word  :  before  any 
one  can  hinder  me,  or  interfere,  I  will  go  and  appeal,  in  the 
name  of  my  family,  in  the  name  of  myself  ! '  Ah,  the  brave 
child  ! " 


358  SC7NKISE. 

"  But  appeal  to  whom  ?  "  said  Brand,  breathlessly. 

"  To  the  Council,  my  friend  !  "  said  Calabressa  with  exul- 
tation. 

"  But  gracious  heavens  !  "  Brand  cried,  with  his  hand  ner- 
vously clutching  the  arm  of  his  chair,  "  is  the  secret  betrayed, 
then  ?  Do  they  think  I  will  shelter  myself  behind  a  wo- 
man ? "  • 

"  She  could  betray  no  secret,"  Calabressa  said,  triumph- 
antly, "  she  herself  not  knowing  it,  do  you  not  perceive  ? 
But  she  could  speak  bravely !  " 

"  And  the  result  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  what  that  may  be  ?  In  the  mean  time,  this 
is  the  result — I  am  here  !  " 

At  another  moment  this  assumption  of  dignity  would  have 
been  ludicrous  ;  but  Brand  took  no  heed  of  the  manner  of 
his  companion;  his  heart  was  beating  wildly.  And  even 
when  his  reason  forced  him  to  see  how  little  he  could  expect 
from  this  intervention — when  he  remembered  what  a  decree 
of  the  Council  was,  and  how  irrevocable  the  doom  he  had 
himself  accepted — still  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind 
was  not  of  his  own  safety  or  clanger,  but  rather  of  her  love 
and  devotion,  her  resolve  to  rescue  him,  her  quick  and  gen- 
erous impulse  that  knew  nothing  of-  fear.  He  pictured  her 
to  himself  in  Naples,  calling  upon  this  nameless  and  secret 
power,  that  every  man  around  him  dreaded,  to  reverse  its  de- 
cision !  And  then  the  audacity  of  her  bidding  him  hope  ! 
He  could  not  hope ;  he  knew  moie  than  she  did.  But 
his  heart  was  full  of  lov.e  and  of  gratitude  as  he  thought  of 
her. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  lowering  his  voice, 
"  my  errand  is  one  of  great  secrecy.  I  have  a  commission 
which  I  cannot  altogether  explain  to  you.  But  in  the  mean 
time  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  give  me — in  eoctensc,  with  every 
particular — the  little  history  of  how  you  were  appointed  to — 
to  undertake  a  certain  duty/' 

"Unfortunately,  I  cannot,"  Brand  said,  calmly;  "these 
are  things  one  is  not  permitted  to  talk  about." 

"  But  I  must  insist  on  it,  my  dear  friend." 

"Then  I  must  insist  on  refusing  you." 

"  You  are  trustworthy.  No  matter :  here  is  something 
which  1  think  will  remove  your  suspicions,  my  good  friend — 
or  shall  we  not  rather  say  your  scruples  ?  " 

He  took  from  his  pocket-book  a  card,  and  placed  it  some- 
what ostentatiously  on  the  table.  Brand  examined  it,  and 
then  stared  at  Calabressa  in  surprise. 


THE  CONJURER.  359 

"  You  come  with  the  authority  of  the  Council  ?  " 
"  By  the   goodness   of   Heaven,"    Calabressa  exclaimed, 
with  a  laugh,  "you  have  arrived  at  the  truth  this  time  !  " 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE    CONJURER. 

THERE  was  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  Calabressa  had 
come  armed  with  ample  authority  from  the  Council,  and  yet 
it  was  with  a  strange  reluctance  that  Brand  forced  himself 
to  answer  the  questions  that  Calabressa  proceeded  to  put  to 
him.  He  had  already  accepted  his  doom.  The  bitterness 
of  it  was  over.  He  would  rather  have  let  the  past  be  for- 
gotten altogether,  and  himself  go  forward  blindly  to  the  ap- 
pointed end.  Why  those  needless  explanations  and  admis- 
sions ? 

Moreover,  Calabressa's  questions,  which  had  been  thought 
over  during  long  railway  journeys,  were  exceedingly  crafty. 
They  touched  here  and  there  on  certain  small  points,  as  if 
he  were  building  up  for  himself  a  story.  But  at  last  Brand 
said,  by  way  of  protest, 

"  Look  here,  Calabressa.  I  see  you  are  empowered  to 
ask  me  any  questions  you  like — and  I  am  quite  willing  to 
answer — about  the  business  of  the  Council.  But  really, 
don't  you  see,  I  would  rather  not  speak  of  private  matters. 
What  can  the  Council  want  to  know  about  Natalie  Lind  ? 
Leave  her  out  of  it,  like  a  good  fellow." 

'*  Oh  yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,"  said  Calabressa,  with 
a  smile,  "  leave  her  out  of  it,  truly,  when  she  has  gone  to  the 
Council ;  when  the  Council  have  said,  *  Child,  you  have  not 
appealed  to  us  for  nothing ; '  when  it  is  through  her  that  I 
have  travelled  all  through  the  cold  and  wet,  and  am  now  sit- 
ting here.  Remember  this,  my  friend,  that  the  beautiful 
Natalushka  is  now  a — what  do  you  call  it  ? — a  ward  "  (Cala- 
bressa put  this  word  in  English  into  the  midst  of  his  odd 
French),  "  and  a  ward  of  a  sufficiently  powerful  court,  I  can 
assure  you,  monsieur  !  Therefore,  I  say,  I  cannot  leave  the 
beautiful  child  out.  She  is  of  importance  to  me  ;  why  am  I 
here  otherwise  ?  Be  considerate,  my  friend  ;  it  is  not  im- 
pertinence ;  it  is  not  curiosity." 

Then  he  proceeded  with  his  task ;  getting,  in  a  rounda- 
bout, cunning,  shrewd  wav,  at  a  pretty  fair  version  of  what 


360  S 

had  occurred.  And  he  was  exceedingly  circumspect.  He 
endeavored,  by  all  sorts  of  circumlocutions,  to  hide  from 
Brand  the  real  drift  of  his  inquiry.  He  would  betray  sus- 
picion of  no  one.  His  manner  was  calm,  patient,  almost 
indifferent.  All  this  time  Brand's  thoughts  were  far  away. 
He  was  speaking  to  Calabressa,  but  he  was  thinking  of 
Naples. 

But  when  they  came  to  Brand's  brief  description  of  what 
took  place  in  Lisle  Street  on  the  night  of  the  casting  of  the 
lot,  Calabressa  became  greatly  excited,  though  he  strove  to 
appear  perfectly  calm. 

"  You  are  sure,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  that  was  precisely  what 
happened  ? " 

"  As  far  as  I  know,"  said  Brand,  carelessly.  "  But  why 
go  into  it  ?  If  I  do  not  complain,  why  should  any  one 
else  ?  " 

"  Did  I  say  that  any  one  complained  ?  "  observed  the  astute 
Calabressa. 

"  Then  why  should  any  one  wish  to  interfere  ?  I  am  satis- 
fied. You  do  not  mean  to  say,  Calabressa,  that  any  one 
over  there  thinks  that  I  am  anxious  to  back  out  of  what  I 
have  undertaken — that  I  am  going  down  on  my  knees  and 
begging  to  be  let  off  ?  Well,  at  all  events,  Natalie  does  not 
think  that,"  he  added,  as  if  it  did  not  matter  much  what  any 
other  thought. 

Calabressa  was  silent ;  but  his  eyes  were  eager  and  bright, 
and  he  was  quickly  tapping  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  with 
the  forefinger  of  the  right.  Then  he  regarded  Brand  with  a 
sharp,  inquisitive  look.  Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Good-night,  my  friend,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 

But  Brand  rose  also,  and  sought  to  detain  him. 

"  No,  no,  my  good  Calabressa,  you  are  not  going  yet  ;  you 
have  kept  me  talking  for  your  amusement ;  now  it  is  your 
turn.  You  have  not  yet  told  me  about  Natalie  and  her 
mother." 

"  They  are  well — they  are  indeed  well,  T  assure,  you,"  said 
Calabressa,  uneasily.  He  was  clearly  anxious  to  get  away. 
By  this  time  he  had  got  hold  of  his  cloak  and  swung  it  round 
his  shoulders. 

"Calabressa,  sit  down,  and  tell  me  something  about 
Natalie.  What  made  her  undertake  such  a  journey  ?  Is  she 
troubled  ?  Is  she  sad  ?  I  thought  her  life  was  full  of  inter- 
est now,  her  mother  being  with  her." 

Calabressa  had  got  his  cap,  and  had  opened  the  doer. 

"  Another  time,  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  I  will  sit  down   and 


THE  CONJURER.  361 

tell  you  all  about  the  beautiful,  brave  child,  and  my  old  friend 
her  mother.  Yes,  yes — another  time — to-morrow — next  day. 
At  present  one  is  overwhelmed  with  affairs,  do  you  see  ?  " 

So  saying,  he  forced  Brand  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and 
went  out,  shutting  the  door  behind  him. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  got  into  the  street  than  the  eager, 
talkative,  impulsive  nature  of  the  man,  so  long  confined, 
broke  loose.  He  took  no  heed  that  it  was  raining  hard.  He 
walked  fast ;  he  talked  aloud  to  himself  in  his  native  tongue, 
in  broken  interjectional  phrases ;  occasionally  he  made  use 
of  violent  gestures,  which  were  not  lessened  in  their  effect 
by  the  swaying  cape  of  his  cloak. 

"  Ah,  those  English — those  English  !  "  he  was  excitedly 
saying — "  such  children  ! — blue,  clear  eyes  that  see  nothing 
— the  devil !  why  should  they  meddle  in  such  affairs  ?  To 
play  at  such  a  game  ! — fool's  mate  ;  scholar's  mate  ;  asses 
and  idiots'  mate — they  have  scarcely  got  a  pawn  out,  and 
they  are  wondering  what  they  will  do,  when  whizz  !  along 
comes  the  queen,  and  she  and  the  bishop  have  finished  all 
the  fine  combinations  before  they  were  ever  begun !  And 
you,  you  others,  imps  of  hell,  to  play  that  old  foolish  game 
again !  But  take  care,  my  friends,  take  care  ;  there  is  one 
watching  you,  one  waiting  for  you,  who  does  not  speak,  but 
who  strikes  !  Ah,  it  is  a  pretty  game  ;  you,  you  sullen  brute  ; 
you,  you  fop  and  dandy ;  but  when  you  are  sitting  silent 
round  the  board,  behold  a  dagger  flashes  down  and  quivers 
into  the  wood !  No  wonder  your  eyes  burn  !  you  do  not 
know  whence  it  has  come  ?  But  the  steel-blade  quivers ;  is 
it  a  warning  ? " 

He  laughed  aloud,  but  there  were  still  omnibuses  and  cabs 
in  the  street ;  so  he  was  not  heard.  Indeed,  the  people  who 
were  on  the  pavement  were  hurrying  past  to  get  out  of  the 
rain,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  old  albino  in  the  voluminous 
cloak. 

"  Natalushka,"  said  he,  quite  as  if  he  were  addressing  some 
one  before  him,  "  do  you  know  that  I  am  trudging  through 
the  mud  of  this  infernal  city  all  for  you  ?  And  you,  little 
sybarite,  are  among  the  fine  ladies  of  the  reading-room  at  the 
hotel,  and  listening  to  music,  and  the  air  all  scented  around 
you.  Never  mind  ;  if  only  I  had  a  little  bird  that  could  fly 
to  you  with  a  message — ah,  would  you  not  have  pleasant 
dreams  no-night  ?  Did  I  not  tell  you  to  rely  on  Calabressa  ? 
He  chatters  to  you  ;  he  tries  to  amuse  you  ;  but  he  is  not 
always  Policinella.  No,  not  always  Policinella:  sometimes 
he  is  silent  and  cunning  ;  sometimes — what  do  you  think  ? — 


362  SUNRISE, 

he  is  a  conjurer.  Oh  yes,  you  are  not  seen,  you  are  not 
heard ;  but  when  you  have  them  round  the  board,  whirr  ! 
comes  the  gleaming  blade  and  quivers  in  the  wood !  You 
look  round ;  the  guilty  one  shakes  with  the  palsy ;  his  wits 
go  ;  his  startled  tongue  confesses.  Then  you  laugh ;  you 
say,  '  That  is  well  done  ; '  you  say,  '  Were  they  wrong  in  giving 
this  affair  to  Calabressa  ? ' ' 

Now,  whether  it  was  that  his  rapid  walking  helped  to  re- 
lieve him  of  this  over-excitement,  or  whether  it  was  that  the 
soaking  rain  began  to  make  him  uncomfortable,  he  was  much 
more  staid  in  demeanor  when  he  got  up  to  the  little  lane  in 
Oxford  Street  where  the  Culturverein  held  its  meetings.  Of 
course,  he  did  not  knock  and  demand  admission.  He  stopped 
some  way  down  the  street,  on  the  other  side,  where  he 
found  shelter  from  the  rain  in  a  door-way,  and  whence  he 
could  readily  observe  any  one  coming  out  from  the  hatt  of  the 
Verein.  Then  he  succeeded  in  lighting  a  cigarette. 

It  was  a  miserable  business,  this  waiting  in  the  cold,  damp 
night  air ;  but  sometimes  he  kept  thinking  of  how  he  would 
approach  Reitzei  in  the  expected  interview ;  and  sometimes 
he  thought  of  Natalie ;  and  again,  with  his  chilled  and  drip- 
ping fingers  he  would  manage  to  light  a  cigarette.  Again 
and  again  the  door  of  the  hall  was  opened,  and  this  or  the 
other  figure  came  out  from  the  glare  of  the  gas  into  the  dark 
street ;  but  so  far  no  Reitzei.  It  was  now  nearly  one  in  the 
morning. 

Finally,  about  a  quarter  past  one,  the  last  batch  of  boon 
companions  came  out,  and  the  lights  within  were  extinguished. 
Calabressa  followed  this  gay  company,  who  were  laughing 
and  joking  despite  the  rain,  for  a  short  way  ;  but  it  was  clear 
that  neither  Beratinsky  nor  Reitzei  was  among  them.  Then 
he  turned,  and  made  his  way  to  his  own  lodgings,  where  he 
arrived  tired,  soaked  through,  but  not  apparently  disheartened. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  betimes,  and  at  a  fairly  early  hour 
walked  along  to  Coventry  Street,  where  he  took  up  his  station 
at  the  east  corner  of  Rupert  Street,  so  that  he  could  see  any 
one  going  westward,  himself  unseen.  Here  he  was  more  suc- 
cessful. He  had  not  been  there  ten  minutes  when  Reitzei 
passed.  Calabressa  hastened  after  him,  overtook  him,  and 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  Calabressa  !  "  said  Reitzei,  surprised,  but  in  noway 
disconcerted. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  you,"  said  Calabressa,  himself  a  lit- 
tle agitated,  though  he  did  not  show  it. 

"  Certainly  ;  come  along.     Mr.  Lind  will  arrive  soon." 


THE  CONJURER.  363 

"  No,  alone.     I  wish  to  speak  to  you  alone." 

Calabressa  looked  around.  The  only  place  of  shelter  he 
saw  was  a  rather  shabby  restaurant,  chiefly  used  as  a  supper- 
room,  and  at  this  moment  having  the  appearance  of  not  being 
yet  woke  up.  Reitzei  was  in  a  compliant  mood.  He  suffered 
himself  to  be  conducted  into  this  place,  to  the  astonishment 
of  one  or  two  unwashed-looking  waiters,  who  were  seated  and 
reading  the  previous  evening's  papers.  Calabressa  and 
Reitzei  sat  down  at  one  of  the  small  tables  ;  the  former  or- 
dered some  coffee,  the  latter  a  bottle  of  soda-water. 

By  this  time  Calabressa  had  collected  himself  for  the  part 
he  was  about  to  play. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "what  news? 
When  is  Europe  to  hear  the  fate  of  the  Cardinal  ? " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  know  very  little  about  it,"  said  Reitzei, 
glancing  at  him  rather  suspiciously. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  business,"  said  Calabressa,  reflectively,  "a 
decree  of  the  Council.  You  would  think  that  one  so  power- 
ful, so  well  protected,  would  be  able  to  escape,  would  you 
not  ?  But  he  himself  knows  better.  He  knows  he  is  as  pow- 
erless as  you  might  be,  for  example,  or  myself." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  Reitzei,  boldly,  "  he  knows  he  has 
deserved  it :  what  more  ?  He  has  had  his  little  fling,  now 
comes  the  settlement  of  the  score." 

"  And  I  hear  that  our  friend  Brand  is  to  be  the  instrument 
of  justice  :  how  strange  !  He  has  not  been  so  long  with  us." 

"  That  is  Mr.  Lind's  affair :  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  me," 
said  Reitzei,  shortly. 

"  Well,"  said  Calabressa,  toying  with  his  coffee-cup.  "  I 
hope  I  shall  never  be  tempted  to  do  anything  that  might  lead 
the  Council  to  condemn  me.  Fancy  such  a  life ;  every  mo- 
ment expecting  some  one  to  step  up  behind  you  with  a  knife 
or  a  pistol,  and  the  end  sure  !  I  would  take  Provana's  plan. 
The  poor  devil  ;  as  soon  as  he  heard  he  had  been  condemned 
he  could  not  bear  living.  He  never  thought  of  escape  :  a  few 
big  stones  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat,  and  over  he  slips  into 
the  Arno.  And  Mesentskoff :  you.  remember  him?  His 
only  notion  of  escape  was  to  give  himself  up  to  the  police — 
twenty-five  years  in  the  mines.  I  think  Provana's  plan  was 
better." 

Reitzei  became  a  little  uneasy,  or  perhaps  only  impatient. 

"  Well,  Calabressa,"  he  said,  "  one  must  be  getting  along 
to  one's  affairs — " 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  truly,"  Calabressa  said.  "  I  only  wished  to 
know  a  little  more  about  the  Cardinal.  You  see  he  cannot 


364  SUNXISE. 

give  himself  up  like  Mesentskoff,  though  he  might  confess  to 
a  hundred  worse  things  than  the  Russian  ever  did.  Provana 
— well,  you  know  the  Society  has  always  been  inexorable 
with  regard  to  its  own  officers  :  and  rightly,  too,  Reitzei,  is 
it  not  so  ?  If  one  finds  malversation  of  justice  among  those 
in  a  high  grade,  should  not  the  punishment  be  exemplary  ? 
The  higher  the  power,  the  higher  the  responsibility.  You, 
for  example,  are  much  too  shrewd  a  man  to  risk  your  life 
by  taking  any  advantage  of  your  position  as  one  of  the 
officers — " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Calabressa,"  the  other  said, 
somewhat  hotly. 

"  I  only  meant  to  say,"  Calabressa  observed,  carelessly, 
"  that  the  punishment  for  malversation  of  justice  on  the  part 
of  an  officer  is  so  terrible,  so  swift,  and  so  sure,  that  no  one 
but  a  madman  would  think  of  running  the  risk — " 

"  Yes,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  me  ?  "  Reitzei  said, 
angrily. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear  friend,  nothing."  said  Calabressa, 
soothingly.  "  But  now,  about  this  selection  of  Mr.  Brand — 

Reitzei  turned  rather  pale  for  a  second ;  but  said  instantly, 
and  with  apparent  anger, 

"  I  tell  you  that  is  none  of  my  business.  That  is  Mr. 
Lind's  business.  What  have  I  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Do  not  be  so  impatient,  my  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  look- 
ing at  his  coffee.  "  We  will  say  that,  as  usual,  there  was  a 
ballot.  All  quite  fair.  No  man  wishes  to  avoid  his  duty. 
It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world  to  mark  one  of  your 
pieces  of  paper  with  a  red  mark :  whoever  receives  the 
marked  paper  undertakes  the  commission.  All  is  quite  fair, 
I  say.  Only  you  know,  I  dare  say,  the  common,  the  pitiful 
trick  of  the  conjurer  who  throws  a  pack  of  cards  on  the  table, 
backs  up.  You  take  one,  look  at  it  privately,  return  it,  and 
the  cards  are  shuffled.  Without  lifting  the  cards  at  all  he 
tells  you  that  the  one  you  selected  was  the  eight  of  diamonds  : 
why?  It  is  no  miracle  :  all  the  cards  are  eight  of  diamonds ; 
though  you,  you  poor  innocent,  do  not  know  that.  It  is  a 
wretched  trick,"  added  Calabressa,  coolly. 

Reitzei  drank  off  the  remainder  of  his  soda-water  at  a 
gulp.  He  stared  at  Calabressa  in  silence,  afraid  to  speak. 

"  My  dear  friend  Reitzei,"  said  Calabressa,  at  length  rais- 
ing his  eyes  and  fixing  them  on  his  companion,  "  you  could 
not  be  so  insane  as  to  play  any  trick  like  that  ? — having  four 
pieces  of  paper,  for  example,  all  marked  red,  the  marks  un- 
der the  paper  ?  You  would  not  enter  into  any  such  conspir- 


THE  CONJURER.  365 

acy,  for  you  know,  friend  Reitzei,  that  the  punishment  is — 
death!" 

The  man  had  turned  a  ghastly  gray-green  color.  He  was 
apparently  choking  with  thirst,  though  he  had  just  finished 
the  soda-water.  He  could  not  speak. 

Calabressa  calmly  waited  for  him ;  but  in  his  heart  he  was 
saying  exultingly,  "  Ha  1  the  dagger  quivers  in  the  board ;  his 
eyes  are  starting  from  his  head ;  is  it  Calabressa  or  Cagliostro 
that  has  paralyzed  him  ?  " 

At  length  the  wretched  creature  opposite  him  gasped  out, 

"  Beratinsky — " 

But  he  could  say  no  more.  He  motioned  to  a  waiter  to 
bring  him  some  soda-water. 

"  Yes,  Beratinsky  ?  "  said  Calabressa,  calmly  regarding  the 
livid  face. 

" — has  betrayed  us  !  "  he  said,  with  trembling  lips.  In 
fact,  there  was  no  fight  in  him  at  all,  no  angry  repudiation ; 
he  was  helpless  with  this  sudden  bewilderment  of  fear. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Calabressa  ;  and  he  now  spoke  in  a  low, 
eager  voice.  "  It  is  for  you  to  save  yourself  by  forestalling 
him.  It  is  your  one  chance ;  otherwise  the  decree ;  and 
good-bye  to  this  world  for  you  !  See — look  at  this  card — I 
say  it  is  your  only  chance,  friend  Reitzei — for  I  am  empow- 
ered by  the  Council  to  promise  you,  or  Beratinsky,  or  any 
one,  a  free  pardon  on  confession.  Oh,  I  assure  you  the 
truth  is  clear :  has  not  one  eyes  ?  You,  poor  devil,  you  can- 
not speak  :  shall  I  go  to  Beratinsky  and  see  whether  he  can 
speak  ?  " 

"  What  must  I  do — what  must  I  do  ? "  the  other  gasped, 
in  abject  terror.  Calabressa,  regarding  this  exhibition  of 
cowardice,  could  not  help  wondering  how  Lind  had  allowed 
such  a  creature  to  associate  with  him. 

Then  Calabressa,  sure  of  victory,  began  to  breathe  more 
freely.  He  assumed  a  lofty  air. 

"  Trust  in  me,  friend  Reitzei.  I  will  instruct  you.  If  you 
can  persuade  the  Council  of  the  truth  of  your  story,  I  promise 
you  they  will  absolve  you  from  the  operations  of  a  certain 
Clause  which  you  know  of.  Meanwhile  you  will  come  to  my 
lodgings  and  write  a  line  to  Lind,  excusing  3'ourself  for  the 
day ;  then  this  evening  I  dare  say  it  will  be  convenient  for 
you  to  start  for  Naples.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  you  owe  me  thanks  : 
you  did  not  know  the  danger  you  were  in  ;  hereafter  you  will 
say,  '  Well,  it  was  no  other  than  Calabressa  who  pulled  me 
out  of  that  quagmire.'  " 


366  SUNRISE. 

A  few  minutes  thereafter  Calabressa  was  in  a  telegraph- 
office,  and  this  was  the  message  he  despatched  : 

"  Colonna,  London:  to  Bartolotti,  Vicolo  Isotta,  No.  15, 
Naples.  Ridotto  will  arrive  immediately,  colors  down.  Send 
orders  for  Luigi  and  Bassano  to  follow." 

"  It  is  a  bold  stroke,"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  as  he  left 
the  office,  "  but  I  have  run  some  risks  in  my  time.  What  is 
one  more  or  less  ?  " 


CHAPTER  LII. 

FIAT  JUSTITIA. 

THIS  scheme  of  Calabressa's  had  been  so  rapidly  conceived 
and  put  in  execution,  that  he  had  had  no  time  to  think  of  its 
possible  or  certain  consequences,  in  the  event  of  his  being 
successful.  His  immediate  and  sole  anxiety  was  to  make  sure 
of  his  captive.  There  was  always  the  chance  that  a  frightened 
and  feeble  creature  like  Reitzei  might  double  back ;  he  might 
fly  to  Lind  and  Beratinsky,  and  seek  security  in  a  new  com- 
pact ;  for  who  could  prove  any  thing  if  the  three  were  to  main- 
tain their  innocence  ?  However,  as  Calabressa  shrewdly  per- 
ceived, Reitzei  was  in  the  dark  as  to  how  much  the  Council 
knew  already.  Moreover,  he  had  his  suspicions  of  Beratinsky. 
If  there  was  to  be  a  betrayal,  he  was  clearly  resolved  to  have 
the  benefit  of  it.  Nevertheless,  Calabressa  did  not  lose  sight 
of  him  for  a  moment.  He  took  him  to  his,  Calabressa's  lodg- 
ings ;  kept  assuring  him  that  he  ought  to  be  very  grateful  for 
being  thus  allowed  to  escape ;  got  him  to  write  and  despatch 
a  note  to  Lind,  excusing  himself  for  that  day  and  the  next, 
and  then  proceeded  to  give  him  instructions  as  to  what  he 
should  do  in  Naples.  These  instructions,  by-the-way,  were 
entirely  unnecessary  ;  it  is  no  part  of  Calabressa's  plan  to  al- 
low Reitzei  to  arrive  in  Naples  alone. 

After  a  mid-day  meal,  Calabressa  and  Reitzei  walked  up  to 
the  lodgings  of  the  latter,  where  he  got  a  few  travelling  things 
put  together.  By-and-by  they  went  to  the  railway  station, 
Calabressa  suggesting  that  it  was  better  for  Reitzei  to  get 
away  from  London  as  soon  as  possible.  The  old  albino  saw 
his  companion  take  his  seat  in  the  train  for  Dover,  and  then 
turned  away  and  re-entered'  the  busy  world  of  the  London 
streets. 


FIA  T  JUSTITIA.  367 

The  clay  was  fine  after  the  rain  ;  the  pavements  were  white 
and  dry  ;  he  kept  in  the  sunlight  for  the  sake  of  the  warmth  ; 
but  he  had  not  much  attention  for  the  sights  and  sounds  around 
him.  Now  that  this  sudden  scheme  promised  to  be  entirely 
successful,  he  could  consider  the  probable  consequences  of 
that  success  ;  and,  as  usual,  his  first  thought  was  about  Nat- 
alie. 

"  Poor  child — poor  child  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  rather  sad- 
ly. "  How  could  she  tell  how  this  would  end  ?  If  she  saves 
the  life  of  her  lover,  it  is  at  the  cost  of  the  life  of  her  father. 
The  poor  child  ! — must  misfortune  meet  her  whichever  way 
she  turns  ?  " 

And  then,  too,  some  touch  of  compunction  or  even  remorse 
entered  into  his  own  bosom.  He  had  been  so  eager  in  the  pur- 
suit ?  he  had  been  so  anxious  to  acquit  himself  to  the  satis- 
faction of  the  Council,  that  he  had  scarcely  remembered  that 
his  success  would  almost  certainly  involve  the  sacrifice  of  one 
who  was  at  least  an  old  colleague.  Ferdinand  Lincl  and  Cal- 
abressa  had  never  been  the  very  best  of  friends  ;  during  one 
period,  indeed,  they  had  been  rivals  ;  but  that  had  been  for- 
gotten in  the  course  of  years,  and  what  Calabressa  now  re- 
membered was  that  Lind  and  he  had  at  least  been  compan- 
ions in  the  old  days. 

"  Seventeen  years  ago,"  he  was  thinking,  "  he  forfeited  his 
life  to  the  Society,  and  they  gave  it  back  to  him.  They  will 
not  pardon  him  this  time.  And  who  is  to  take  the  news  to 
Natalie  and  the  beautiful  brave  child  ?  Ah,  what  will  she  say  ? 
My  God,  is  there  no  happiness  for  any  one  in  this  world  ?  " 

He  was  greatly  distressed ;  but  in  his  distress  he  became 
desperate.  He  would  not  look  that  way  at  all.  He  boldly 
justified  himself  for  what  he  had  done,  and  strove  to  regard 
it  with  satisfaction.  What  if  both  Lind  and  Beratinsky  were 
to  suffer ;  had  they  not  merited  any  punishment  that  might 
befall  them  ?  Had  they  not  compassed  the  destruction  of  an 
innocent  man  ?  Would  it  have  been  better,  then,  that  George 
Brand  should  have  become  the  victim  of  an  infamous  con- 
spiracy ?  Fiat  justitia  ! — no  matter  at  what  cost.  Natalie 
must  face  the  truth.  Better  that  the  guilty  should  suffer  than 
the  innocent.  And  he,  Calabressa,  for  one,  was  not  going  to 
shirk 'any  responsibility  for  what  might  happen.  He  had 
obeyed  the  orders  of  the  Council.  He  had  done  his  duty  : 
that  was  enough. 

He  £0fcced  himself  not  to  think  of  Natalie,  and  of  the  dis- 
may and  horror  with  which  she  would  learn  of  one  of  the  con- 
sequences of  her  appeal.  This  was  a  matter  between  men — 


368  SUNRISE. 

to  be  settled  by  men  :  if  the  consciences  of  women  were  ten- 
der, it  could  not  be  helped.  Calabressa  walked  faster  and 
faster,  as  it  he  were  trying  to  get  away  from  something  that 
followed  and  annoyed  him.  He  pretended  to  himself  that  he 
was  deeply  interested  in  a  shop-window  here  or  there ;  occa- 
sionally he  whistled  ;  he  sung  "Vado  a  Napoli  in  barchetta" 
with  forced  gayety ;  he  twisted  his  long  white  moustache,  and 
then  he  made  his  way  down  to  Brand's  rooms. 

Here  he  was  also  very  gay. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  to-day  I  have  idleness  ; 
to-day  I  will  talk  to  you  ;  yesterday  I  could  not." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  Brand,  "  our  positions  are  reversed 
now,  for  here  is  a  letter  from  Lind  wanting  me  to  go  up  to 
Lisle  Street.  It  seems  Reitzei  has  had  to  go  off  into  the 
country,  leaving  a  lot  of  correspondence — " 

"  You  are,  then,  on  good  terms  with  Lind  ?  "  Calabressa 
interposed,  quickly. 

"  Yes  ;  why  not  ?  "  said  Brand,  with  a  stare. 

"  I,  also — I  say,  why  not  ?  It  is  excellent.  Then  you  have 
no  time  for  my  chatter  ? "  said  Calabressa,  carelessly  regard- 
ing the  open  letter. 

"  At  least  you  can  tell  me  something  about  Natalie  and  her 
mother.  Are  they  well  ?  What  hotel  are  they  at  ?  " 

Calabressa  laughed. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  friend  Monsieur  Brand,  you  say,  'Are  they 
well  ? '  What  you  mean  is,  '  What  has  taken  them  to  Naples  ? ' 
Bien,  you  are  right  to  wonder;  you  will  not  have  to  wonder 
long.  A  little  patience  ;  you  will  hear  something ;  do  not 
be  surprised.  And  you  have  no  message,  for  example,  by  way 
of  reply  to  the  letter  I  brought  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  returning  to  Naples,  then  ?  " 

"  To-night.  I  will  take  a  message  for  you  ;  if  you  have  no 
time  now,  send  it  to  me  at  Charing  Cross.  Meanwhile,  I  take 
my  leave." 

Calabressa  rose,  but  was  persuaded  to  resume  his  seat. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  again  laughing,  "  that  you  have  a  little  time 
to  hear  about  the  two  wanderers.  Oh,  they  are  in  a  good  ho- 
tel, I  assure  you ;  pretty  rooms  ;  you  look  over  to  Capri ;  quite 
near  you  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo  ;  and  underneath  your  windows 
the  waves — a  charming  view  !  And  the  little  Nataluska,  she 
has  not  lost  her  spirits  :  she  says  to  me, '  Dear  Mr.  Calabressa, 
will  you  have  the  goodness  to  become  my  champion  ? '  I  say 
to  her,  'Against  all  the  world !  '  'Oh  no,'  she  answers,  *  not 
quite  so  much  as  that.  It  is  a  man  who  sells  agates  and  peb- 
bles, anJ  such  things;  and.no  matter  when  I  eo  out,  he  will 


FIAT  JUSTITIA.  369 

follow  me,  and  thrust  himself  before  me.  Dear  Mr.  Cala- 
bressa,  I  do  not  want  agates  and  pebbles,  and  he  is  more  impor- 
tunate than  all  the  others  put  together ;  and  the  servants  of 
the  hotel  can  do  nothing  with  him.'  Oh,  I  assure  you,  it  would 
have  made  you  laugh — her  pretence  of  gravity !  I  said  nothing 
— not  I ;  what  is  the  use  of  making  serious  promises  over  trifles  ? 
But  when  I  went  out  I  encountered  the  gentleman  with  the 
agates  and  pebbles.  *  Friend,'  said  I,  '  a  word  with  you.  Skip, 
dance,  be  off  with  you  to  the  steps  of  some  other  hotel ;  your 
presence  is  not  agreeable  here.'  '  Who  are  you  ? '  said  he,  nat- 
urally. '  No  matter,'  said  I ;  '  but  do  you  wish  to  be  presented 
with  two  dozen  of  the  school-master's  sweetmeats  ? '  *  Who 
are  you  ? '  said  he  again.  Then  I  took  him  by  the  ear  and 
whispered  something  to  him.  By  the  blood  of  Saint  Peter, 
Monsieur  Brand,  you  should  have  heard  the  quick  snap  of  his 
box,  and  seen  the  heels  of  him  as  he  darted  off  like  an  ante- 
lope !  I  tell  you  the  grave-faced  minx,  that  mocking  Nata- 
lushka,  who  makes  fun  of  old  people  like  me — well,  she  shall 
not  any  more  be  troubled  with  agates  and  pebbles ! " 

"Then  she  is  quite  cheerful  and  happy?"  said  Brand, 
somewhat  wondering. 

"  Sometimes,"  Calabressa  said,  more  gravely.  "  One  can- 
not always  be  anxious ;  one  has  glimpses  of  hope ;  then  the 
spirit  rises ;  the  eyes  laugh.  You,  for  example,  you  do  not 
seem  much  cast  down  ? " 

Brand  avoided  his  inquisitive  look,  and  merely  said, 

"  One  must  take  things  as  one  finds  them.  There  is  no  use 
repining  over  what  happens." 

Calabressa  now  rose  and  took  his  cap ;  then  he  laid  it  down 
on  the  table  again. 

"  One  moment  before  I  go,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand.  I 
told  you  to  expect  news  ;  perhaps-  you  will  not  understand. 
Shall  I  show  you  something  to  help  ?  Regard  this  :  it  is  only 
a  little  trick ;  but  it  may  help  you  to  understand  when  the 
news  comes  to  you." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  piece  of  white  paper,  square, 
and  with  apparently  nothing  on  it.  He  laid  it  on  the  table, 
and  produced  a  red  pencil. 

"  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  small  pair  of  scissors,  my  dear 
friend  ?  " 

Brand  stepped  aside  to  a  writing-desk,  and  brought  him 
the  scissors  ;  he  was  scarcely  thinking  of  Calabressa  at  all  ; 
he  was  thinking  of  the  message  he  would  send  to  Naples. 

Calabressa  slowly  and  carefully  cut  the  piece  of  paper  into 
four  squares,  and  proceeded  to  fold  these  up.  Brand  looked 
24 


370  SUNRISE. 

on,  it  is  true,  but  with  little  interest ;  and  he  certainly  did  not 
perceive  that  his  companion  had  folded  three  of  these  pieces 
with  the  under  side  inward,  the  fourth  with  the  upper  side 
inward,  while  this  had  the  rough  edges  turned  in  a  different 
direction  from  the  other  three. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  Calabressa,  calmly,  "  if  one  were 
drawing  lots,  for  example,  what  more  simple  than  this  ?  I 
take  one  of  these  pieces — you  see  there  is  nothing  on  it — I 
print  a  red  cross  with  my  pencil ;  there,  it  is  folded  again, 
and  they  all  go  into  my  cap." 

"Enough,  Calabressa,"  Brand  said,  impatiently;  "you 
show  me  that  you  have  questioned  me  closely  enough.  There 
is  enough  said  about  it." 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  my  dear  friend,  there  is  not,"  said 
Calabressa,  politely  ;  "  for  this  is  what  I  have  to  say  now  : 
draw  one  of  the  pieces  of  paper." 

Brand  turned  away. 

"  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  gone  over  again,  I  tell  you  ;  I  have 
had  enough  of  it ;  let  it  rest." 

"  It  must  not  rest.     I  beg  of  you — my  friend,  I  insist — " 

He  pressed  the  cap  on  him  ;  Brand,  to  get  rid  of  him,  drew 
one  of  the  papers  and  tossed  it  on  to  the  table.  Calabressa 
took  it  up,  opened  it,  and  showed  him  the  red  cross. 

"  Yes,  you  are  again  unfortunate,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand. 
Fate  pursues  you,  does  it  not  ?  But  wait  one  moment.  Will 
you  open  the  other  three  papers  ?  " 

As  Brand  seemed  impatient,  Calabressa  himself  took  them 
out  and  opened  them  singly  before  him.  On  each  and  all 
was  the  same  red  mark. 

But  now  Brand  was  indifferent  no  longer 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Calabressa  ? "  he  said,  quickly. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Calabressa,  regarding  him,  "  that  one  might 
prepare  a  trick  by  which  you  would  not  have  much  chance  of 
escape." 

Brand  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  these  others — "  He  could  not  com- 
plete the  sentence  ;  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl ;  was  this  why 
Natalie  had  sent  him  that  strange  message  of  hope  ? 

Calabressa  released  himself,  and  took  his  cap,  and  said, 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing,  my  dear  friend — nothing.  My 
lips  are  sealed  for  the  present.  But  surely  one  is  permitted 
to  show  you  a  common  little  trick  with  bits  of  paper !  " 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  said  Brand,  breath- 
lessly, and  with  his  face  still  somewhat  pale.  "  You  suggest 
there  has  been  a  trick.  That  is  why  you  have  come  from 


FIA  T  JUSTITIA.  37t 

Naples  ?  What  do  you  know  ?  What  is  about  to  happen  ? 
For  God's  sake,  Calabressa,  don't  have  any  mystification 
about  it :  what  is  it  that  you  know — that  you  suspect — that 
you  have  heard  ?  " 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  with  some  anxiety, 
"  perhaps  I  have  been  indiscreet.  I  know  nothing  :  what  can 
I  know  ?  But  I  show  you  a  trick — if  only  to  prepare  you  for 
any  news — and  you  think  it  is  very  serious.  Oh  no;  do  not 
be  too  hopeful — do  not  think  it  is  serious — think  it  was  a 
foolish  trick — " 

And  so,  notwithstanding  all  that  Brand  could  do  to  force 
some  definite  explanation  from  him,  Calabressa  succeeded  in 
getting  away,  promising  to  carry  to  Natalie  any  message  Brand 
might  send  in  the  evening ;  and  as  for  Brand  himself,  it  was 
now  time  for  him  to  go  up  to  Lisle  Street,  so  that  he  had 
something  else  to  think  of  than  idle  mystifications. 

For  this  was  how  he  took  it  in  the  end :  Calabressa  was 
whimsical,  fantastic,  mysterious  ;  he  had  been  playing  with 
the  notion  that  Brand  had  been  entrapped  into  this  service  ; 
he  had  succeeded  in  showing  himself  how  it  might  have  been 
done.  The  worst  of  it  was — had  he  been  putting  vain  hopes 
into  the  mind  of  Natalie  ?  Was  this  the  cause  of  her  mes- 
sage ?  In  the  midst  of  all  this  bewildering  uncertainty,  Brand 
set  himself  to  the  work  left  unfinished  by  Reitzei,  and  found 
Ferdinand  Lind  as  pleasant  and  friendly  a  colleague  as  ever. 

But  a  few  days  after  he  was  startled  by  being  summoned 
back  to  Lisle  Street,  after  he  had  gone  home  in  the  afternoon. 
He  found  Ferdinand  Lind  as  calm  and  collected  as  usual, 
though  he  spoke  in  a  hard,  dry  voice.  He  was  then  informed 
that  Lind  himself  and  Beratinsky  were  about  to  leave  London 
for  a  time  ;  that  the  Council  wished  Brand  to  conduct  the 
business  at  Lisle  Street  as  best  he  could  in  their  absence ; 
and  that  he  was  to  summon  to  his  aid  such  of  the  officers  of 
the  Society  as  he  chose.  He  asked  no  explanations,  and  Lind 
vouchsafed  none.  There  was  something  unusual  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  man's  face. 

Well,  Brand  installed  himself  in  Lisle  Street,  and  got  along 
as  best  he  could  with  the  assistance  of  Gathorne  Edwards 
and  one  or  two  others.  But  not  one  of  them,  any  more  than 
himself,  knew  what  had  happened  or  was  happening.  No 
word  or  message  of  any  kind  came  from  Calabressa,  or  Lind, 
or  the  Society,  or  any  one.  Day  after  day  Brand  got  through 
his  work  with  patience,  but  without  interest ;  only  for  the 
time  being,  these  necessities  of  the  hour  beguiled  him  from 


372  SUtfKISE. 

thinking  of  the  hideous,  inevitable  thing  that  lay  ahead  in 
his  life. 

When  news  did  come,  it  was  sudden  and  terrible.  One 
night  he  and  Edwards  were  alone  in  the  rooms  in  Lisle 
Street,  when  a  letter,  sent  through  a  roundabout  channel, 
was  put  into  his  hands.  He  opened  it  carelessly,  glanced 
at  the  beginning  of  it,  then  he  uttered  an  exclamation ;  then, 
as  he  read  on,  Edwards  noticed  that  his  companion's  face 
was  ghastly  pale,  even  to  his  lips. 

"  Gracious  heavens  ! — Edwards,  read  it !  "  he  said,  quite 
breathlessly.  He  dropped  the  letter  on  the  table.  There 
was  no  wild  joy  at  his  own  deliverance  in  this  man's  face, 
there  was  terror  rather ;  it  was  not  of  himself  at  all  he  was 
thinking,  but  of  the  death-agony  of  Natalie  Lind  when  she 
should  hear  of  her  father's  doom. 

"  Why,  this  is  very  good  news,  Brand,"  Edwards  cried, 
wondering.  "  You  are  released  from  that  affair — " 

But  then  he  read  farther,  and  he,  too,  became  agitated. 

"  What — what  does  it  mean  ?  Lind,  Beratinsky,  Reitzei 
accused  of  conspiracy — misusing  the  powers  intrusted  to 
them  as  officers  of  the  Society — Reitzei  acquitted  on  giving 
evidence — Lind  and  Beratinsky  condemned  !  " 

Edwards  looked  at  his  companion,  aghast,  and  said, 

"  You  know  what  the  penalty  is,  Brand  ? " 

The  other  nodcled.  Edwards  returned  to  the  letter,  read- 
ing aloud,  in  detached  scraps,  his  voice  giving  evidence  of 
his  astonishment  and  dismay. 

"  Beratinsky,  allowed  the  option  of  undertaking  the  duty 
from  which  you  are  released,  accepts — it  is  his  only  chance,  I 
suppose — poor  devil !  what  chance  is  it,  after  all  ?  "  He  put 
the  letter  back  on  the  table.  "  \Vhat  is  all  this  that  has  hap- 
pened, Brand  ? " 

Brand  did  not  answer.  He  had  risen  to  his  feet ;  he  stood 
like  one  bound  with  chains ;  there  was  suffering  and  an 
infinite  pity  in  the  haggard  face. 

"  Why  is  not  Natalie  here  ?  "  he  said ;  and  it  was  strange 
that  two  men  so  different  from  each  other  as  Brand  and 
Calabressa  should  in  such  a  crisis  have  had  the  same  instinct- 
ive thought.  The  lives  and  fates  of  men  were  nothing ;  it 
was  the  heart  of  a  girl  that  concerned  them.  "  They  will 
tell  her — some  of  them  over  there — they  will  tell  her  suddenly 
that  her  father  is  condemned  to  die  !  Why  is  she — among — 
among  strangers  ? " 

He  pulled  out  his  watch  hastily,  but  long  ago  the  night- 
mail  had  left  for  Dover,  At  this  moment  the  bell  rung  below, 


THE  TRIAL.  373 

and  he  started  ;  it  was  unusual  for  them  to  have  a  visitor  at 
such  an  hour. 

"  It  is  only  that  drunken  fool  Kirski,"  Edwards  said.     "  I 
asked  him  to  come  here  to-night." 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE   TRIAL. 

IT  was  a  dark,  wet,  and  cold  night  when  Calabressa  felt  his 
way  down  the  gangway  leading  from  the  Admiralty  Pier  into 
the  small  Channel  steamer  that  lay  slightly  rolling  at  her  moor- 
ings. *  Most  of  the  passengers  who  were  already  on  board 
had  got  to  leeward  of  the  deck-cabins,  and  sat  huddled  up 
there,  undistinguishable  bundles  of  rugs.  For  a  time  he  al- 
most despaired  of  finding  out  Reitzei,  but  at  last  he  was  suc- 
cessful ;  and  he  had  to  explain  to  this  particular  bundle  of 
rugs  that  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  would  himself  travel 
with  hin\to  Naples. 

It  was  a  dirty  night  in  crossing,  and  both  suffered  consider- 
ably ;  the  difference  being  that,  as  soon  as  they  got  into  the 
smooth  waters  of  Calais  harbor,  Calabressa  recovered  himself 
directly,  whereas  Reitzei  remained  an  almost  inanimate  heap 
of  wrappings,  and  had  to  be  assisted  or  shoved  up  the  steep 
gangway  into  the  glare  of  the  officials'  lamps.  Then,  as  soon 
as  he  had  got  into  a  compartment  of  the  railway-carriage,  he 
rolled  himself  up  in  a  corner,  and  sought  to  forget  his  suffer- 
ings in  sleep. 

Calabressa  was  walking  up  and  down  on  the  platform.  At 
length  the  bell  rung,  and  he  was  about  to  step  into  the  com- 
partment, when  he  found  himself  preceded  by  a  lady. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,"  said  he,  politely,  "  but  it  is 
a  carriage  for  smokers." 

"  And  if  one  wishes  to  smoke,  one  is  permitted — is  it  not 
so  ?  "  said  the  stranger,  cheerfully. 

Calabressa  at  once  held  open  the  door  for  her,  and  then 
followed.  These  three  had  the  compartment  to  themselves. 

She  was  a  young  lady,  good-looking,  tall,  bright-complex- 
ioned,  with  brown  eyes  that  had  plenty  of  fire  in  them,  and  a 
pleasant  smile  that  showed  brilliant  teeth.  Calabressa,  sit- 
ting opposite  her,  judged  that  she  was  an  Austrian,  from  the 
number  of  bags  and  knickknacks  she  had,  all  in  red  Russia 
leather,  and  from  the  number  of  trinkets  she  wore,  mostly  of 


374  SUNKfSE. 

polished  steel  or  silver.  She  opened  a  little  tortoise-shell 
cigarette-case,  took  out  a  cigarette,  and  gracefully  accepted 
the  light  that  Calabressa  offered  her.  By  this  time  the  train 
had  started,  and  was  thundering  through  the  night. 

The  young  lady  was  very  frank  and  affable  ;  she  talked  to 
her  companion  opposite — Reitzei  being  fast  asleep — about  a 
great  many  things  ;  she  lit  cigarette  after  cigarette.  She 
spoke  of  her  husband  moreover  ;  and  complained  that  he 
should  have  to  go  and  fight  in  some  one  else's  quarrel.  Why 
could  not  ladies  who  went  to  the  tables  at  Monte  Carlo  keep 
their -temper,  that  a  perfectly  neutral  third  person  should  be 
summoned  to  fight  a  duel  on  behalf  of  one  of  them  ? 

"  You  are  going  to  rejoin  him,  then,  madame  ? "  said  Cala- 
bressa. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  said,  laughing.     "  I  have  my  own  affairs." 

After  some  time,  she  said,  with  quite  a  humorous  smile, 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  hope  I  do  not  keep  you  from  sleeping. 
But  you  are  puzzled  about  me  ;  you  think  you  have  seen  me 
before,  but  cannot  tell  where." 

"  There  you  are  perfectly  right,  madame." 

"  Think  of  the  day  before  yesterday.  You  were  crossing 
in  the  steamer.  You  were  so  good  as  to  suggest  t6  a  lady 
on  board  that  nearer  the  centre  vessel  would  be  safer  for 
her—" 

He  stared  at  her  again.  Could  this  be  the  same  lady  who, 
on  the  day  that  he  crossed,  was  seated  right  at  the  stern  of 
the  steamer  her  brown  hair  flying  about  with  the  wind,  her 
white  teeth  flashing  as  she  laughed  and  joked  with  the  sail- 
ors, her  eyes  full  of  life  and  merriment  as  she  pitched  up  and 
down  ?  Calabressa,  before  the  paroxysms  of  his  woe  over- 
took him,  had  had  the  bravery  to  go  and  remonstrate  with 
this  young  lady,  and  to  tell  her  she  would  be  more  comforta- 
ble nearer  the  middle  of  the  boat ;  but  she  had  laughingly 
told  him  she  was  a  sailor's  daughter,  and  was  not  afraid  of 
the  sea.  Well,  this  handsome  young  lady  opposite  certainly 
laughed  like  that  other,  but  still — 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  do  I  puzzle  you  with  such  a  simple  thing  ? 
My  hair  was  brown  the  day  before  yesterday,  it  is  black  to- 
day ;  is  that  a  sufficient  disguise  ?  Pardieu,  when  I  went  to  a 
music-hall  in  London  that  same  night  to  see  some  stupid  non- 
sense— bah  !  such  stupid  nonsense  I  have  never  seen  in  the 
world — I  went  dressed  as  a  man.  Only  for  exercise,  you 
perceive  :  one  does  not  need  disguises  in  London." 

Calabressa  was  becoming  more  and  more  mystified,  and 
she  saw  it,  and  her  amusement  increased. 


THE  TRIAL.  375 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot  deny  that  you 
also  are  political  ?  " 

"  I,  madame  ?  "  said  Calabressa,  with  great  innocence. 

"  Oh  yes.  And  you  are  not  on  the  side  of  the  big  battal- 
ions, eh  ?  " 

"  I  declare  to  you,  madame — " 

She  glanced  at  Reitzei. 

"  Your  friend  sleeps  sound.  Come,  shall  I  tell  you  some- 
thing? You  did  not  say  a  word,  for  example,  when  you 
stepped  on  shore,  to  a  gentleman  in  a  big  cloak  who  had 
a  lantern — " 

"  Madame,  I  beg  of  you  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice, 
also  glancing  at  Reitzei. 

"  What !."  she  said,  laughing.  "  Then  you  have  the  honor 
of  the  acquaintance  of  my  old  friend  Biard  ?  The  rogue,  to 
take  a  post  like  that !  Oh,  I  think  my  husband  could  speak 
more  frankly  with  you ;  I  can  only  guess." 

"  You  are  somewhat  indiscreet,  madame,"  said  Calabressa, 
coldly. 

"  I  indiscreet  ?  "  she  said,  flickering  off  the  the  ash  of  her 
cigarette  with  a  finger  of  the  small  gloved  hand.  Then  she 
said,  with  mock  seriousness,  "  How  can  one  be  indiscreet 
with  a  friend  of  the  good  man  Biard  ?  Come,  I  will  give  you 
a  lesson  in  sincerity.  My  husband  is  gone  to  fight  a  duel,  I 
told  you  ;  yes,  but  his  enemy  is  a  St.  Petersburg  general  who 
belonged,  to  the  Third  Section.  They  should  not  let  Rus- 
sains  play  at  Monte  Carlo ;  it  is  so  easy  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  them.  And  now  about  myself ;  you  want  to  know  what 
I  am — what  I  am  about.  Ah,  I  perceive  it,  monsieur.  Well, 
this  time,  on  the  other  hand,  I  shall  be  discreet.  But  if  you 
hear  of  something  within  a  few  weeks — if  the  whole  of  the 
world  begins  to  chatter  about  it — and  you  say,  '  Well,  that 
woman  had  pluck  ' — then  you  can  think  of  our  little  conver- 
sation during  the  night.  We  must  be  getting  near  Amiens, 
is  it  not  so  ?  " 

She  took  from  her  traveling-bag  a  small  apparatus  for 
showering  eau-de-cologne  in  spray,  and  with  this  sprinkled 
her  forehead ;  afterward  removing  the  drops  with  a  soft 
sponge,  and  smoothing  her  rebellious  black  hair.  Then  she 
took  out  a  tiny  flask  and  cup  of  silver. 

"  Permit  me,  monsieur,  to  give  you  a  little  cognac,  after  so 
many  cigarettes.  I  fear  you  have  only  been  smoking  to  keep 
me  company — " 

"  A,  thousand  thanks,  madame !  "  said  Calabressa,  who 
certainly  did  not  refuse.  She  took  none  herself  ;  indeed,  she 


376  SUNRISE. 

had  just  time  to  put  her  bags  in  order  again  when  the  train 
slowed  into  Amiens  station  ;  and  she,  bidding  her  bewildered 
and  bewitched  companion  a  most  courteous  farewell,  got  out 
and  departed. 

Calabressa  himself  soon  fell  asleep,  and  did  not  wake  un- 
til they  were  near  Paris.  By  this  time  the  bundle  of  rugs  in 
the  corner  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  animation. 

"  Well,  friend  Reitzei  you  have  had  a  good  sleep,"  said 
Calabressa,  yawning,  and  stretching  his  arms. 

"  I  have  slept  a  little." 

"  You  have  slept  all  night — what  more  ?  What  do  you 
know,  for  example,  of  the  young  lady  who  was  in  the  car- 
riage ?  " 

"  I  saw  her  come  in,"  Reitzei  said,  indifferently,  "  and  I 
heard  you  talking  once  or  twice.  What  was  she  ?  " 

"  There  you  ask  me  a  pretty  question.  My  belief  is  that 
she  was  either  one  of  those  Nihilist  madwomen,  or  else  the 
devil  himself  in  a  new  shape.  At  any  rate,  she  had  some 
good  cognac." 

"  I  should  like  some  coffee  now,  Signor  Calabressa  ;  and 
you  ? " 

"  I  would  not  refuse  it." 

Indeed,  during  all  this  journey  to  Naples,  Calabressa  and 
his  companion  talked  much  more  of  the  commonplace  inci- 
dents and  wants  of  travel  than  of  the  graver  matters  that  lay 
before  them.  Calabressa  was  especially  resolute  in  doing  so. 
He  did  not  like  to  look  ahead.  He  kept  reminding  himself 
that  he  was  simply  the  agent  of  the  Council ;  he  was  carrying 
out  ttoeir  behests  ;  the  consequences  were  for  others  to  deal 
with.  He  had  fulfilled  his  commission  ;  he  had  procured 
sufficient  proof  of  the  suspected  conspiracy ;  if  evil-doers 
were  to  be  punished,  was  he  responsible  ?  Fiat  justitia  !  he 
kept  repeating  to  himself.  He  was  answerable  to  the  Coun- 
cil alone.  He  had  done  his  duty. 

But  from  time  to  time — and  especially  when  they  were 
travelling  at  night,  and  he  was  awake — a  haunting  dread 
possessed  him.  How  should  he  appear  before  these  two 
women  in  Naples  ?  His  old  friend  Natalie  Berezolyi  had 
been  grievously  wronged ;  she  had  suffered  through  long 
years ;  but  a  wife  forgets  much  when  her  husband  is  about 
to  die.  And  a  daughter  ?  Lind  had  been  an  affectionate 
father  enough  to  this  girl ;  these  two  had  been  companions 
all  her  lifetime  ;  recent  incidents  would  surely  be  forgotten  in 
her  terror  over  the  fact  that  it  was  her  own  appeal  to  the 
Council  that  had  wrought  her  father's  death.  And  then  he, 


THE  TRIAL.  377 

Calabressa,  what  could  he  say  ?  It  was  through  him  she  had 
invoked  these  unknown  powers  ;  it  was  his  counsel  that  had 
taken  her  to  Naples ;  and  he  was  the  immediate  instrument 
that  would  produce  this  tragic  end. 

He  would  not  think  of  it.  At  the  various  places  where 
they  stopped  he  worried  about  food  and  drink,  and  angrily 
haggled  about  hotel-bills  :  he  read  innumerable  stupid  little 
newspapers  from  morning  till  night ;  he  smoked  Reitzei 
nearly  blind.  At  last  they  reached  Naples. 

Within  an  hour  after  their  arrival  Calabressa,  alone,  was  in 
Tommaso's  wine-vaults  talking  to  the  ghoul-like  occupant. 
A  bell  rung,  faint  and  muffled,  in  the  distance  ;  he  passed 
to  the  back  of  the  vaults,  and  lit  a  candle  that  Tommaso 
handed  him  ;  then  he  followed  what  seemed,  from  the  rumble 
overhead,  some  kind  of  subterranean  corridor.  But  at  the 
end  of  this  long  sub-way  he  began  to  ascend  ;  then  he  reached 
some  steps  ;  finally,  he  was  on  an  ordinary  staircase,  with 
daylight  around  him,  and  above  him  a  landing  with  two  doors, 
both  shut. 

Opening  one  of  these  doors,  after  having  knocked  thrice, 
he  entered  a  large,  bare  chamber  which  was  occupied  by 
three  men,  all  seated  at  a  table  which  was  covered  with  pa- 
pers. One  of  them,  Von  Zoesch,  rose. 

"  That  is  good ;  that  is  very  well  settled,"  he  said  to  the 
other  two.  "It  is  a  good  piece  of  work.  Now  here  is  this 
English  business,  and  the  report  of  our  wily  friend,  Cala- 
bressa. What  is  it,  Calabressa  ?  We  had  your  telegram  ; 
we  have  sent  for  Lind  and  Beratinsky ;  what  more  ?  " 

"  Excellency,  I  have  fulfilled  your  commission,  I  hope  with 
judgment,"  Calabressa  said,  his  cap  in  his  hand.  "  I  believe 
it  is  clear  that  the  Englishman  had  that  duty  put  upon  him 
by  fraudulent  means." 

"  It  is  a  pity  if  it  be  so ;  it  will  cost  us  some  further 
trouble,  and  we  have  other  things  to  think  about  at  present." 
Then  he  added,  lightly,  "  but  it  will  please  your  young  lady 
friend,  Calabressa.  Well?" 

"  Excellency,  you  forget  it  may  not  quite  so  well  please  her 
if  it  is  found  that  her  father  was  in  the  conspiracy,"  said  Cala- 
bressa, submissively. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  answered  the  bluff,  tall  soldier.  "  However, 
to  the  point,  Calabressa.  What  have  you  discovered  ?  and 
your  proofs." 

"  I  have  none,  your  Excellency  ;  but  I  have  brought  with 
me  one  of  the  four  in  the  ballot  who  is  willing  to  confess. 
Why  is  he  willing  to  confess  ?  "  said  Calabressa,  with  a  little 


378  SUNRISE. 

triumphant  smile  ;  "  because  he  thinks  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Council  know  already." 

"  And  you  have  frightened  the  poor  devil,  no  doubt,"  said 
Von  Zoesch,  laughing. 

"  I  have  on  the  contrary,  assured  him  of  pardon,"  saicl 
Calabressa,  gravely.  It  is  within  the  powers  you  gave  me, 
Excellency.  I  have  pledged  my  honor — " 

"  Oh  yes,  yes ;  very  well.  But  do  you  mean  to  tell  us,  my 
good  Calabressa,"  said  this  tall  man,  speaking  more  seriously, 
"  that  you  have  proof  of  these  three — Lind,  Beratinsky,  Reit- 
zei — having  combined  to  impose  on  the  Englishman  ?  Not 
Lind,  surely  ?  Perhaps  the  other  two — " 

"  Your  Excellency,  it  is  for  you  to  investigate  further  and 
determine.  I  will  tell  you  how  I  proceeded.  I  went  to  the 
Englishman,  and  got  minute  particulars  of  what  occured.  I 
formed  my  own  little  story,  my  guess,  my  theory.  I  got  hold 
of  Reitzei,  and  hinted  that  it  was  all  known.  On  my  faith, 
he  never  thought  of  denying  anything,  he  was  so  frightened  ! 
But  regard  this,  Excellency ;  I  know  nothing.  I  can  give 
you  the  Englishman's  account ;  then,  if  you  get  that  of  Reit- 
zei, and  the  two  correspond,  it  is  a  good  proof  that  Reitzei 
is  not  lying  in  his  confession.  It  is  for  you  to  examine  him, 
Excellency." 

"  No,  it  is  not  for  me,"  the  ruddy-faced  soldier-looking  man 
said,  and  then  he  turned  to  his  two  companions.  The  one 
was  the  Secretary  Granaglia :  the  other  was  a  broad-shoul- 
dered, elderly  man,  with  strikingly  handsome  features  of  the 
modern  Greek  type,  a  pallid,  wax-like  complexion,  and 
thoughtful,  impenetrable  eyes.  "  Brother  Conventzi,  I  with- 
draw from  this  affair.  I  leave  it  in  hands  of  the  Council ; 
one  of  the  accused  was  in  former  days  my  friend  ;  it  is  not 
right  that  I  should  interfere." 

"  And  I  also,  Excellency,"  said  Calabressa,  eagerly.  "  I 
have  fulfilled  my  commission  ;  may  not  I  retire  now  also  ? " 

"Brother  Granaglia  will  take  down  your  report  in  writing; 
then  you  are  free,  my  Calabressa.  But  you  will  take  the 
summons  of  the  Council  to  your  friend  Reitzei ;  I  suppose 
he  will  have  to  be  examined  before  the  others  arrive." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  neither  the  General  von  Zoesch 
nor  Calabressa  was  present  when  the  trial,  if  trial  it  could 
be  called,  took  place.  There  were  no  formalities.  In  this 
same  big  bare  room  seven  members  of  the  Council  sat  at  the 
table,  Brother  Conventz  presiding,  the  Secretary  Granaglia 
at  the  foot,  with  writing-materials  before  him.  Ferdinand 
Lind  and  Beratinsky  stood  between  them  and  the  side-wall 


THE   TRIAL.  379 

apparently  impassive.  Reitzei  was  nearer  the  window,  pal- 
lid, uneasy,  his  eyes  wandering  about  the  room,  but  avoiding 
the  place  where  his  former  colleagues  stood. 

The  President  briefly  stated  the  accusation  against  them, 
and  read  Reitzei's  account  of  his  share  in  what  had  taken 
place.  He  asked  if  they  had  anything  to  deny  or  to  explain. 

Beratinsky  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Illustrious  Brethren  of  the  Council,"  he  began,  as  if  with 
some  set  speech  ;  but  his  color  suddenly  forsook  him,  and  he 
halted  and  looked  helplessly  round.  Then  he  said,  wildly, 
"  I  declare  that  I  am  innocent — I  say  that  I  am  innocent ! 
I  never  should  have  thought  of  it,  gentlemen.  It  was  Lind's 
suggestion ;  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  man ;  I  declare  I 
had  nothing  to  gain.  Gentlemen,  judge  for  yourselves  :  what 
had  I  to  gain  ?  " 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other;  the  grave  faces  were 
mostly  regarding  Granaglia,  who  was  slowly  and  carefully 
putting  the  words  clown. 

Then  Lind  spoke,  clearly  and  coldly  : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  deny.  What  I  did  was  done  in  the 
interests  of  the  Society.  My  reward  for  my  long  services  is 
that  I  am  haled  here  like  a  pickpocket.  It  is  the  second 
time ;  it  will  be  the  last.  I  have  done,  now,  with  the  labor 
of  my  life.  You  can  reap  the  fruits  of  it.  Do  with  me  what 
you  please." 

The  President  rose. 

"The  gentlemen  may  now  retire;  the  decision  of  the 
Council  will  be  communicated  to  them  hereafter." 

A  bell  rung ;  Tommaso  appeared ;  Lind  and  Beratinsky 
were  conducted  down  the  stairs  and  through  the  dark  corri- 
dor. In  a  few  seconds  Tommaso  returned,  and  performed  a 
like  office  for  Reitzei. 

The  deliberation  of  the  Council  were  but  of  short  dura- 
tion. The  guilt  of  the  accused  was  clear;  and  clear  and 
positive  was  the  penalty  prescribed  by  the  articles  of  the  So- 
ciety. But,  in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  Beratinsky  had 
been  led  into  this  affair  by  Lind,  it  was  resolved  to  offer  him 
the  alternative  of  his  taking  over  the  service  from  which 
Brand  was  released.  This  afforded  but  a  poor  chance  of 
escape,  but  Beratinsky  was  in  a  desperate  position.  That 
same  evening  he  accepted  ;  and  the  Secretary  Granaglia  was 
forthwith  ordered  to  report  the  result  of  these  proceedings  to 
England,  and  give  certain  instructions  as  to  the  further  con- 
duct of  business  there. 

The    Secretary   Granaglia   performed    this    task   with   his 


380  SUNRISE. 

usual  equanimity.  He  was  merely  a  machine  registering 
the  decrees  of  the  Council ;  it  was  no  affair  of  his  to  be  con- 
cerned about  the  fate  of  Ferdinand  Lind ;  he  had  even  for- 
gotten the  existence  of  the  two  women  who  had  been  pa- 
tiently waiting  day  after  day  at  that  hotel,  alternately  hoping 
and  fearing  to  learn  what  had  occurred. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

PUT    TO     THE    PROOF. 

IT  was  not  at  all  likely  that,  at  such  a  crisis,  George  Brand 
should  pay  much  attention  to  the  man  Kirski,  who  was  now 
ushered  into  the  room.  He  left  Edwards  to  deal  with  him. 
In  any  case  he  could  not  have  understood  a  word  they  were 
saying,  except  through  the  interpretation  of  Edwards,  and 
that  was  a  tedious  process.  He  had  other  things  to  think  of. 

Edwards  was  in  a  somewhat  nervous  and  excited  condition 
after  hearing  this  strange  news,  and  he  grew  both  impatient 
and  angry  when  he  saw  that  Kirski  was  again  half  dazed 
with  drink. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  as  fierce  as 
the  mild  student-face  permitted.  "  This  is  why  you  are  not 
at  the  shop  when  I  called  to-day.  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ? 
What  has  become  of  your  promises  ? " 

"  Little  father,  I  have  great  trouble,"  said  the  man,  hum- 
bly. 

"  You  !  You  in  trouble  !  "  said  Edwards,  angrily.  "  You 
do  not  know  what  trouble  is.  You  have  everything  in  the 
world  you  could  wish  for.  You  have  good  friends,  as  much 
employment  as  you  can  want,  fair  wages,  and  a  comfortable 
home.  If  your  wife  ran  away  from  you,  isn't  it  a  good  rid- 
dance ?  And  then,  instead  of  setting  about  your  work  like  a 
good  citizen,  you  think  of  nothing  but  murdering  a  man  who 
is  as  far  away  from  you  as  the  man  in  the  moon,  and  then 
you  take  to  drinking,  and  become  a  nuisance  to  every  one." 

"  Little  father,  I  have  many  troubles,  and  I  wish  to  for- 
get." 

"  Your  troubles  ! "  said  Edwards,  though  his  anger  was  a 
little  bit  assumed  :  he  wished  to  frighten  the  man  into  better 
ways.  "  What  are  your  troubles  ?  Think  of  that  beautiful 
lady  you  are  always  talking  about,  who  interested  herself  in 
you — the  bigger  fool  she  ! — think  of  her  trouble  when  she 


PUT  7'0  THE  PROOF.  381 

knows  that  her  father  is  to  die  ;  and  for  what  ?  Because  he 
was  not  obedient  to  the  laws  of  the  Society.  And  he  is 
punished  with  death  ;  and  you,  have  you  been  obedient  ? 
What  has  become  of  your  promises  to  me  ?  " 

The  man  before  him  seemed  at  this  moment  to  arouse 
himself.  He  answered  nothing  to  the  reproaches  hurled  at 
him  ;  but  said,  with  a  glance  of  eager  interest  in  the  sunken 
eyes, 

"  Is  she  in  great  trouble,  little  father  ?  " 

This  gleam  of  intelligence  rather  startled  Edwards.  He 
had  been  merely  scolding  a  half-drunken  poor  devil,  and  had 
been  incautious  as  to  what  he  said.  He  continued,  with 
greater  discretion, 

"Would  she  have  her  troubles  made  any  the  less  if  she 
knew  how  you  were  behaving  ?  She  was  interested  in  you  ; 
many  a  time  she  asked  about  you — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  man  said,  slowly ;  and  he  was  twisting 
about  the  cap  that  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  And  she  gave  you  her  portrait.  Well,  I  am  glad  you 
knew  you  were  not  fit  to  retain  such  a  gift.  A  young  lady 
like  that  does  not  give  her  portrait  to  be  taken  into  public- 
houses—" 

'  No  more — do  not  say  any  more,  little  father,'*  Kirski 
sa  d,  though  in  the  same  humble  way.  "  It  is  useless." 

'  Useless  ?  " 

*  I  will  not  go  back  to  any  public-house — never." 

*  So  you  said  to  me  four  days  ago,"  Edwards  answered. 

'  This  time  it  is  true,"  he  said,  though  he  did  not  lift  his 
bleared  eyes.  "  To-morrow  I  will  take  back  the  portrait, 
little  father  ;  it  shall  remain  with  me,  in  my  room.  I  do  not 
go  back  to  any  public-house ,  I  shall  be  no  more  trouble." 
Then  he  said,  timidly  raising  his  eyes,  "  Does  she  weep—- 
that beautiful  one  ? " 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  said  Edwards,  hastily,  and  in  some  con- 
fusion. "  Is  it  not  natural  ?  But  you  must  not  say  a  word 
about  it ;  it  is  a  secret.  Think  of  it,  and  what  one  has  to 
suffer  in  this  world,  and  then  ask  yourself  if  you  will  add  to 
the  trouble  of  one  who  has  been  so  kind  to  you.  Now  do  I 
understand  you  aright  ?  Is  it  a  definite  promise  this  time  ?  " 

"  This  time,  yes,  little  father.  You  will  have  no  more  need 
to  complain  of  me,  I  will  not  add  to  any  one's  trouble.  To- 
morrow— no,  to-night  I  take  back  the  portrait ;  it  is  sacred  ; 
I  will  not  add  to  any  one's  trouble." 

There  was  something  strange  about  the  man's  manner,  but 
Edwards  put  it  down  to  the  effects  of  drink,  and  was  chiefly 


382  SUNRISE. 

concerned  in  impressing  on  the  dazed  intelligence  before  him 
the  responsibility  of  the  promises  he  had  given. 

"  To-morrow,  then,  at  nine  you  are  at  the  shop." 

"  Assuredly,  if  you  wish  it,  little  father." 

"Remember,  it  is  the  last  chance  your  master  will  give  you. 
He  is  very  kind  to  give  you  this  chance.  To-morrow  you  be- 
gin a  new  course  of  conduct ;  and  when  the  young  lady  comes 
back  I  will  tell  her  of  it." 

"  I  will  not  add  to  her  troubles,  little  father ;  you  may  be 
sure  of  it  this  time." 

When  he  had  gone,  Brand  turned  to  his  companion.  He 
still  held  that  letter  in  his  hands.  His  face,  that  had  grown 
somewhat  haggard  of  late,  was  even  paler  than  usual. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel  very  glad,  Edwards,"  he  said. 
"  This  is  a  reprieve,  don't  you  see,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned. 
And  yet  I  can't  realize  it ;  I  don't  seem  to  care  about  it ;  all 
the  bitterness  was  over — " 

"  You  are  too  bewildered  yet,  Brand — no  wonder." 

"  If  only  the  girl  and  her  mother  were  over  here  !  "  he  said  ; 
and  then  he  added,  with  a  quick  instinct  of  fear,  "  What  will 
she  say  to  me  ?  When  she  appealed  to  the  Council,  surely 
she  could  not  have  imagined  that  the  result  would  be  her 
father's  death.  But  now  that  she  finds  it  so — when  she  finds 
that,  in  order  to  rescue  me,  she  has  sacrificed  him — " 

He  could  not  complete  the  sentence. 

"  But  he  has  richly  deserved  it,"  said  Edwards. 

"That  is  not  what  she  will  look  to,"  he  said.  "Edwards," 
he  added,  presently,  "  I  am  going  home  now.  This  place 
stifles  me.  I  hate  the  look  of  it.  That  table  is  where  they 
played  their  little  sleight-of-hand  business  ;  and  oh  !  the 
bravery  of  the  one  and  the  indifference  of  the  other,  and 
Lind's  solemn  exposition  of  duty  and  obedience,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it !  Well,  what  will  be  the  result  when  this  pretty 
story  becomes  known  ?  Rascality  among  the  very  foremost 
officers  of  the  Society  !  what  are  all  those  people  who  have 
recently  joined  us,  who  are  thinking  of  joining  us,  likely  to 
say  ?  Are  these  your  high-priests  ?  Are  these  the  apostles 
of  self-sacrifice,  and  all  the  virtues  ?  " 

"  It  is  bad  enough,  but  not  irreparable,"  said  Edwards, 
calmly.  "  If  a  member  here  or  there  falls  out,  the  association 
remains  ;  if  one  of  its  high  officers  betrays  his  trust,  you  see 
how  swift  and  terrible  the  punishment  is." 

"  I  do  not,"  said  Brand.  "  I  see  that  the  paper  decree  is 
swift  enough,  but  what  about  the  execution  of  it  ?  Have  the 
Council  a  body  of  executioners  ?  " 


PUT  TO  THE  PROOF.  383 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Edwards,  simply;  "but  I 
know  that  when  I  was  in  Naples  with  Calabressa,  I  heard  of 
the  fate  of  several  against  whom  decrees  had  been  pronounced ; 
and  I  know  that  in  every  instance  they  anticipated  their  own 
fate ;  the  horror  of  being  continually  on  the  watch  was  too  much 
for  them.  You  may  depend  on  it,  that  is  what  Lind  will  do. 
He  is  a  proud  man.  He  will  not  go  slinking  about,  afraid  at 
every  street-corner  of  the  knife  of  the  Little  Chaffinch,  or 
some  other  of  those  Cammorra  fellows — '"' 

"  Edwards,"  said  Brand,  hastily,  "  there  is  a  taint  of  blood 
— of  treachery — about  this  whole  affair  that  sickens  me.  It 
terrifies  me  when  I  think  of  what  lies  ahead.  I — I  think  I 
have  already  tasted  death,  and  the  taste  is  still  bitter  in  the 
mouth.  I  must  get  into  the  fresh  air." 

Edwards  got  his  coat  and  hat,  and  followed.  He  saw  that 
his  companion  was  strangely  excited. 

"  If  all  this  work — if  all  we  have  been  looking  forward  to — 
were  to  turn  out  to  be  a  delusion,"  Brand  said,  hurriedly, 
when  they  had  got  into  the  dark  clear  night  outside,  "  that 
would  be  worse  than  the  suicide  of  Ferdinand  Lind  or  the 
disappearance  of  Beratinsky.  If  this  is  to  be  the  end — if 
these  are  our  companions — " 

"  But  how  can  you  suggest  such  a  thing  ?  "  Edwards  pro- 
tested. "  Your  imagination  is  filled  with  blackness,  Brand. 
You  are  disturbed,  shocked,  afraid.  Why,  who  are  your 
colleagues  ?  What  do  you  think  of — "  Here  he  mentioned 
a  whole  string  of  names,  some  of  them  those  of  well-known 
Englishmen.  "  Do  you  accuse  them  of  treachery  ?  Have 
you  not  perfect  confidence  in  them  ?  Have  they  not  perfect 
confidence  in  the  work  we  are  all  pledged  to  ?  " 

But  he  could  not  shake  off  this  horrible  feeling.  He  wished 
to  be  alone,  to  fight  with  it ;  he  did  not  even  think  of  go- 
ing to  Lord  Evelyn  ;  perhaps  it  was  now  too  late.  Shortly 
afterward  he  bade  Edwards  good-night,  and  made  his  way  to 
his  rooms  at  the  foot  of  Buckingham  Street. 

Waters  had  left  the  lights  low ;  he  did  not  turn  them  up. 
Outside  lay  the  black  night-world  of  London,  hushed  and  si- 
lent, with  its  thousand  golden  points  of  fire.  He  was  glad  to 
be  alone.  •» 

And  yet  an  unknown  feeling  of  dread  was  upon  him.  It 
seemed  as  if  now  for  the  first  time  he  realized  what  a  terrible 
destiny  had  nearly  been  his  ;  and  that  his  escape,  so  far  from 
rendering  him  joyful,  had  left  him  still  trembling  and  horri- 
fied. Hitherto  his  pride  had  conquered.  Even  as  he  had 
undertaking  that  duty,  it  was  his  pride  that  had  kept  him  out- 


384 

wardly  calm  and  indifferent  He  would  not  show  fear,  he 
would  not  even  show  repugnance,  before  these  men.  And  it 
was  pride,  too,  that  had  taught  him  at  length  and  successfully 
to  crush  down  certain  vague  rebellions  of  conscience.  He 
would  not  go  back  from  his  oath.  He  would  not  go  back 
from  the  promise  to  which  Natalie's  ring  bound  him.  He 
would  go  through  with  this  thing,  and  bid  farewell  to  life ; 
further  than  that  no  one  could  have  demands  on  him. 

But  the  sudden  release  from  this  dire  pressure  of  will  left 
his  nerves  somewhat  unstrung.  For  the  mere  sake  of  com- 
panionship he  would  like  to  have  taken  Natalie's  hand,  to 
have  heard  her  voice  :  that  would  have  assured  him,  and  given 
him  courage.  He  knew  not  what  dangers  encompassed  her, 
what  agony  she  might  not  be  suffering.  And  the  night  did 
not  answer  these  sudden,  wavering,  confused  questionings ; 
the  darkness  outside  was  as  silent  as  the  grave. 

Then  a  deeper  gloom,  almost  touching  despair,  fell  upon 
him.  He  saw  in  all  those  companions  of  his  only  so  many 
dupes  ;  the  great  hope  of  his  life  left  him,  the  future  became 
blank.  He  began  to  persuade  himself  that  he  had  only 
toyed  with  that  new-found  faith  ;  that  it  was  the  desperation 
of  ennui,  not  a  true  hope,  that  had  drawn  him  into  this  work  ; 
that  henceforth  he  would  have  no  right  to  call  upon  others  to 
join  in  a  vain  undertaking.  If  such  things  as  had  just  occur- 
red were  possible  in  this  organization,  with  all  its  lofty  aims 
and  professions — if  there  was  to  be  a  backgronnd  of  assassi- 
nation and  conspiracy — why,  this  dream  must  go  as  others 
had  done.  Then  what  remained  to  him  in  life  ?  He  almost 
wished  he  had  been  allowed  to  go  forward  to  this  climax  un- 
knowing ;  to  have  gone  with  his  heart  still  filled  with  faith  ; 
to  be  assured  until  the  last  moment  that  Natilie  would  re- 
member how  he  had  fulfilled  his  promise  to  her. 

It  was  a  dark  night  for  him,  within  and  without.  But  as 
he  sat  there  at  the  window,  or  walked  up  and  down,  wrestling 
with  these  demons  of  doubt  and  despair,  a  dull  blue  light 
gradually  filled  the  sky  outside  ;  the  orange  stars  on  the 
bridges  grew  less  intense  ;  the  broad  river  became  visible  in 
the  dusk.  Then  by-and-by  the  dull  blue  cleared  into  a  pale 
steel-gray,  and  the  forms  of  the  boats  could  be  made  out,  an- 
chored in  the  stream  there  :  these  were  the  first  indications 
of  the  coming  dawn. 

Somehow  or  other  he  ceased  these  restless  pacings  of  his, 
and  was  attracted  to  the  window,  though  he  gazed  but  ab- 
sently on  the  slow  change  taking  place  outside — the  world- 
old  wonder  of  the  new  day  rising:  in  the  east.  UD  into  that 


PUT  TO  THE  PROOF.  385 

steely-gray  glides  a  soft  and  luminous  saffron-brown ;  it 
spreads  and  widens ;  against  it  the  far  dome  of  St.  Paul's 
becomes  a  beautiful  velvet-purple.  A  planet,  that  had  been 
golden  when  it  was  in  the  dusk  near  the  horizon,  has  now 
sailed  up  into  the  higher  heaven,  and  shines  a  clear  silver 
point.  And  now,  listen  !  the  hushed  and  muffled  sounds  in 
the  silence  ;  the  great  city  is  awakening  from  its  sleep — there 
is  the  bark  of  a  dog — the  rumble  of  a  cart  is  heard.  And 
still  that  saffron  glow  spreads  and  kindles  in  the  east,  and 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  is  richer  in  hue  than  ever ;  the  river 
between  the  black-gray  bridges,  shines  now  with  a  cold  light, 
and  the  gas-lamps  have  grown  pale.  And  then  the  final  flood 
of  glory  wells  up  in  the  eastern  skies,  and  all  around  him  the 
higher  buildings  catch  here  and  there  a  swift  golden  gleam  : 
the  sunrise  is  declared  ;  there  is  a  new  day  born  for  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  men. 

The  night  had  fled,  and  with  it  the  hideous  phantoms  of 
the  night.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  escaped  from  the 
grave,  and  that  he  was  only  now  shaking  off  the  horror  of  it. 
Look  at  the  beautiful,  clear  colors  without ;  listen  to  the  hum 
of  the  city  awakening  to  all  its  cheerful  activities  ;  the  new 
day  has  brought  with  it  new  desires,  new  hopes.  He  threw 
open  the  windows.  The  morning  air  was  cold  and  sweet — 
the  sparrows  were  beginning  to  chirp  in  the  garden-plots  be- 
low. Surely  that  black  night  was  over  and  gone. 

If  only  he  could  see  Natalie  for  one  moment,  to  assure  her 
that  he  had  succumbed  but  once,  and  for  the  last  time,  to 
despair.  It  was  a  confession  he  was  bound  to  make  ;  it  would 
not  lessen  her  trust  in  him.  For  now  all  through  his  soul  a 
sweet,  clear  voice  was  ringing :  it  was  the  song  the  sunrise 
had  brought  him  ;  it  was  the  voice  of  Natalie  herself,  with  all 
its  proud  pathos  and  fervor,  as  he  had  heard  it  in  the  olden 
days  : 

"  A  little  time  we  gain  from  time 

To  set  our  seasons  in  some  chime, 
For  harsh  or  sweet,  or  loud  or  low, 
With  seasons  played  out  long  ago — 

And  souls  that  in  their  time  and  prime 
Took  part  with  summer  or  with  snow, 

Lived  abject  lives  out  or  sublime, 
And  had  there  chance  of  seed  to  sow 

For  service  or  disservice  done 

To  those  days  dead  and  this  their  son. 

"  A  little  time  that  we  may  fill 
Or  with  such  good  works  or  such  ill 

As  loose  the  bonds  or  make  them  strong, 
Wherein  all  manhood  suffers  wrong. 


386  SUNRISE. 

By  rose-hung  ri^er  and  light-foot  rill 

There  are  who  rest  not ;  who  think  long 

Till  they  discern,  as  from  a  hill, 
At  the  sun's  hour  of  morning  song, 

Known  of  souls  only,  and  those  souls  free, 

The  sacred  spaces  of  the  sea." 

Surely  it  was  still  for  him  and  her  together  to  stand  on  some 
such  height,  hand-in-hand,  and  watch  the  sunrise  come  over 
tlje  sea  and  awakening  world.  They  would  forget  the  phan- 
toms of  the  night,  and  the  traitors  gone  down  to  Erubus ;  per- 
haps, for  this  new  life  together,  they  might  seek  a  new  clime. 
There  was  work  for  them  still ;  and  faith,  and  hope,  and  the 
constant  assurance  of  love  :  the  future  might  perchance  be 
all  the  more  beautiful  because  of  these  dark  perils  of  the 
past. 

As  he  lay  thus  communing  with  himself,  the  light  shining 
in  on  his  haggard  face,  Waters  came  into  the  room,  and  was 
greatly  concerned  to  find  that  not  only  had  his  master  not 
been  to  bed,  but  that  the  supper  left  out  for  him  the  night 
before  had  not  been  touched.  Brand  rose,  without  betraying 
any  impatience  over  his  attendant's  pertinacious  inquiries  and 
remonstrances.  He  went  and  got  writing  materials,  and 
wrote  as  follows : 

"  DEAR  EVELYN, — If  you  could  go  over  to  Naples  for  me 
• — at  once — I  would  take  it  as  a  great  favor.  I  cannot  go 
myself.  Whether  or  not,  come  to  see  me  at  Lisle  Street  to- 
day, by  twelve. 

"Yours,  G.  B." 

"  Take  this  to  Lord  Evelyn,  Waters ;  and  if  he  is  up  get  an 
answer." 

"  But  your  breakfast,  sir.     God  bless  me — " 

"  Never  mind  breakfast.  I  am  going  to  lie  down  for  an 
hour  or  two  now :  1  have  had  some  business  to  think  over. 
Let  me  have  some  breakfast  about  eleven — when  I  ring." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

That  was  his  phrase — he  had  had  some  business  to  think 
over.  But  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  went  into  the  adjacent 
room,  that  that  night  he  had  passed  through  worse  than  the 
bitterness  of  death. 


CO  NCR  A  TULA  TIONS .  387 

CHAPTER  LV. 

CONGRATULATIONS. 

THE  Secretary  Granaglia,  the  business  of  the  Council  being 
over,  carried  the  news  to  Von  Zoesch.  It  was  almost  dark 
when  he  made  his  way  up  the  steep  little  terraces  in  the  garden 
of  the  villa  at  Posilipo.  He  found  the  tall  general  seated  at 
the  entrance  to  the  grotto-like  retreat,  smoking  a  cigar  in  the 
dusk. 

"You  are  late,  Granaglia,"  he  said. 

"  I  had  some  difficulty  in  coming  here,"  said  the  little  man 
with  the  sallow  face  and  the  tired  eyes.  "The  police  are 
busy,  or  pretending  to  be.  The  Commendatore  tells  me  that 
Zaccatelli  has  been  stirring  them  up." 

" Zaccatelli ! "  said  Von  Zoesch,  with  a  laugh.  "It  will 
soon  be  time  now  for  Zaccatelli  to  come  down  from  his  perch. 
Well,  now,  what  is  the  result  ?  " 

Granaglia  briefly  recounted  what  had  occurred :  the  other 
manifested  no  surprise. 

"  So  this  is  the  end  of  the  Lind  episode,"  he  said,  thought- 
fully. "  It  is  a  pity  that  so  able  a  man  should  be  thrown  away. 
He  has  worked  well ;  I  know  of  no  one  who  will  fill  his  place  ; 
but  that  must  be  seen  to  at  once,  Granaglia.  How  long  have 
they  given  him  ?  " 

"  A  month,  your  Excellency.  He  wishes  to  go  back  to  Eng- 
land to  put  his  affairs  in  order.  He  has  a  firm  nerve." 

"  He  was  a  good-looking  man  when  he  was  young,"  said 
Von  Zoesch,  apparently  to  himself.  Then  he  added  :  "  This 
Beratinsky,  to  whom  the  Zaccatelli  affair  has  been  transferred 
— what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  There  must  be  no  bungling, 
Granaglia.  What  do  you  think  of  him — is  he  to  be  trusted  ?" 

"  Your  Excellency,  if  I  were  to  give  you  my  own  impression, 
I  should  say  not  in  the  least.  He  accepts  this  service — why  ? 
Because  he  is  otherwise  lost  for  certain,  and  here  is  a  chance : 
it  is  perhaps  better  than  nothing.  But  he  does  not  go  forward 
with  any  conviction  of  duty  :  what  is  he  thinking  but  of  his 
chance  of  running  away  ?  " 

"  And  perhaps  running  away  beforehand,  for  example  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  your  Excellency  ;  at  least,  that  has  been  provided 
for.  Caprone  and  the  brother  of  Caprone  will  wait  upon 
him  until  the  thing  is  over ;  and  what  is  more,  he  will  receive 
a  hint  that  these  two  humble  attendants  of  his  are  keeping 
an  eye  on  him." 


388  SUNRISE. 

"  Caprone  dare  not  go  to  Rome." 

"  He  is  ready  to  go  anywhere.  They  might  as  well  try  to 
lay  hands  on  a  ghost." 

Von  Zoesch  rose,  and  stretched  his  huge  frame,  and  yawned. 

"  So  this  is  the  end  of  the  episode  Lind,"  he  said,  idly.  "  It 
is  a  pity.  But  if  a  man  plays  a  risky  game  and  loses,  he 
must  pay.  Perhaps  the  warning  will  be  wholesome,  Granaglia. 
Our  friends  must  understand  that  our  laws  are  not  laicf  down 
for  nothing,  and  that  we  are  not  afraid  to  punish  offenders, 
even  if  these  be  among  ourselves.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing 
further  to  be  done  to-night  ? " 

"  I  would  ask  your  Excellency  to  remain  here  for  a  little 
time  yet,"  said  the  Secretary. 

"  Are  they  coming  so  near  ?  We  must  get  Calabressa  to 
procure  some  of  them  a  dozen  or  two  on  board  the  schooner. 
However — " 

He  sat  down  again,  and  lit  another  cigar. 

"  We  must  pay  Calabressa  a  compliment,  Granaglia  ;  it  was 
well  done — very  clever ;  it  has  all  turned  out  just  as  he  im- 
agined ;  it  is  not  the  first  time  he  has  done  us  good  service, 
with  all  his  volubility.  Oh  yes ;  the  rascal  knows  when  to 
hold  his  tongue.  At  this  moment,  for  example,  he  refuses  to 
open  his  lips. 

"  Pardon,  your  Excellency  ;  but  I  do  not  understand  you." 

The  general  laughed  a  little,  and  continued  talking — it  was 
one  way  of  passing  the  time. 

"  It  is  a  good  joke  enough.  The  wily  old  Calabressa  saw 
pretty  clearly  what  the  decision  of  the  Council  would  be,  and 
so  he  comes  to  me  and  entreats  me  to  be  the  bearer  of  the 
news  to  Madame  Lind  and  her  daughter.  Oh  yes  ;  it  is  good 
news,  this  deliverance  of  the  Englishman ;  Madame  Lind  is 
an  old  friend  of  mine  ;  she  and  her  daughter  will  be  grateful. 
But  you  perceive,  Granaglia,  that  what  the  cunning  old  dog 
was  determined  to  avoid  was  the  reporting  to  Madame  Lind 
that  her  husband  had  been  sentenced.  That  was  no  part  of 
the  orignal  programme.  And  now  Calabressa  holds  his  mouth 
shut ;  he  keeps  out  of  the  way ;  it  is  left  for  me  to  go  and 
inform  the  mother  and  daughter. 

His  voice  became  more  serious. 

"  The  devil  take  it,  it  is  no  pleasant  task  at  all !  One  is 
never  sure  how  the  brain  of  a  woman  will  work ;  you  start  the 
engine,  but  it  may  plunge  back  the  wrong  way  and  strike  you. 
Calabressa  is  afraid.  The  fox  is  hiding  in  some  hole  until  it 
is  all  over." 


CO  NCR  A  TULA  TIONS.  389 

"  Cannot  I  be  of  some  service,  your  Excellency  ? "  the 
Secretary  said. 

"  No,  no  ;  but  I  thank  you,  friend  Granaglia.  It  is  a  delicate 
matter ;  it  must  be  approached  with  circumspection ;  and  I, 
as  an  old  acquaintance  of  Madame  Lind,  ought  not  to  shirk 
the  duty." 

Apparently,  it  was  not  Calabressa  only  who  had  some  dread 
of  the  difficulties  of  news-bearer. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  your  Excellency  to  go  near  the  hotel 
at  present,"  said  the  Secretary,  promptly. 

But  his  chief  refused  to  accept  this  offered  means  of  escape. 

"  That  is  true,  but  it  is  not  a  difficulty.  To-night,  friend 
Granaglia,  you  will  send  a  message  to  the  hotel,  bidding  them 
be  af  the  Villa  Odelschalchi  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven — 
you  understand  ? " 

"  Certainly,  your  Excellency." 

"Then  I  will  meet  them,  and  take  the  risk.  Everything 
must  be  settled  off  at  once :  we  have  wasted  too  much  time 
over  this  affair,  Granaglia.  When  does  the  Genoa  Council 
meet  ?  " 

"  On  the  Seventh." 

"  To-morrow  you  must  issue  the  summonses.  Come,  Gran- 
aglia, let  us  be  stirring;  it  is  cold.  Where  does  Brother 
Conventz  sleep  to-night  ?  " 

"  On  board  the  schooner,  your  Excellency." 

"  I  also.  To-morrow,  at  eleven,  you  will  be  at  Portici ;  to- 
night you  will  send  the  message  to  the  ladies  at  the  hotel; 
and  also,  if  you  can,  find  out  where  that  rogue  Calabressa  is 
hiding." 

That  was  the  last  of  their  talking.  There  was  some  locking 
up  inside ;  then  they  passed  down  through  the  dark  garden 
and  out  into  the  road.  There  was  no  one  visible.  They 
walked  on  in  silence. 

Punctually  at  eleven  the  next  morning  Natalie  and  her 
mother  appeared  at  the  iron  gates  of  the  Villa  Odelschalchi 
and  rang  the  bell.  The  porter  appeared,  admitted  them,  and 
then  turned  to  the  great  white  staircase,  which  Granaglia  was 
at  that  moment  seen  to  be  descending. 

"  Will  the  ladies  have  the  goodness  to  step  into  the  garden  ?  " 
said  the  Secretary,  with  grave  courtesy.  "  General  von  Zoesch 
will  be  with  them  directly." 

He  accompanied  them  as  far  as  the  top  of  the  terrace,  and 
then  bowed  and  withdrew. 

If  Natalie  Lind  was  agitated  now,  it  was  not  with  fear. 
There  was  a  fresh  animation  of  color  in  her  cheek ;  her 


390  SUNXISE. 

eyes  were  brilliant  and  excited ;  she  spoke  in  low,  eager 
whispers. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  he  is  coming  to  tell  us,  mother — you  need 
not  be  afraid  :  I  shall  see  it  in  his  face  before  he  comes  near 
— I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  hear  it  in  the  sound  of  his  steps. 
Have  courage,  mother  !  why  do  you  tremble  so  ?  Remember 
what  Calabressa  said.  They  are  so  powerful  they  can  do 
everything  ;  and  you  and  the  General  von  Zoesch  old  friends, 
too.  Look  at  this,  mother  :  do  you  see  what  I  have  brought 
with  me  ?  " 

She  opened  her  purse — her  fingers  were  certainly  a  little 
nervous — and  showed  her  mother  a  folded-up  telegraph  form. 

"  I  am  going  to  telegraph  to  him,  mother;  surely  it  is  from 
me  he  should  hear  the  news  first.  And  then  he  might'come 
here,  mother,  to  go  back  with  us :  you  will  rest  a  few  days  after 
so  much  anxiety/' 

"  I  hope,  my  darling,  it  will  all  turn  out  well,"  said  the 
mother,  turning  quickly  as  she  heard  footsteps. 

The  next  second  Von  Zoesch  appeared,  his  face  red  with  em- 
barrassment ;  but  still  Natalie  with  her  first  swift  glance  saw 
that  his  eyes  were  smiling  and  friendly,  and  her  heart  leaped 
up  with  a  bound. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand,  "  forgive  me 
for  making  such  a  peremptory  appointment — " 

"  But  you  bring  good  news  ?  "  she  said,  breathlessly.  "  Oh, 
sir,  I  can  see  that  you  have  succeeded — yes,  yes — the  danger 
is  removed — you  have  saved  him  !  " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  he,  smiling,  but  still  greatly  em- 
barrassed, "  it  is  my  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  congratulate 
you.  Ah,  I  thought  that  would  bring  some  brightness  to  your 
eyes — " 

She  raised  his  hand,  and  kissed  it  twice  passionately. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  in  a  wild,  joyful  way,  "  will  you  not  thank 
him  for  me  ?  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying — and  then — " 

The  general  had  turned  to  her  mother.  Natalie  quickly  took 
out  the  telegraph-form,  unfolded  it,  knelt  down  and  put  it  on 
the  garden-seat,  and  with  trembling  fingers  wrote  her  message  : 
"  You  are  saved  !  Come  to  us  at  once ;  my  mother  and  I  wait 
here  for  you  ;"  that  was  the  substance  of  it.  Then  she  rose, 
and  for  a  second  or  two  stood  irresolute,  silent,  and  shamefaced. 
Happily  no  one  had  noticed  her.  These  two  had  gone  forward, 
and  were  talking  together  in  a  low  voice.  She  did  not  join 
them  ;  she  could  not  have  spoken  then,  her  heart  was  throb- 
bing so  violently  with  its  newly-found  joy. 

"  Stefan,"  said  the  mother — and  there  was  a  pleasant  light 


CO  NCR  A  TULA  TIONS.  39 1 

in  her  sad  ey.  s  too — "  I  shall  never  forget  the  gratitude  we  owe 
you.  I  have  nothing  else  to  regard  now  but  my  child's  happi- 
ness. You  have  saved  her  life  to  her." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  in  stammering  haste,"  I  am  glad  the  child 
is  happy.  It  would  be  a  pity,  at  her  time  of  life,  and  such  a 
beautiful,  brave  young  lady — yes,  it  would  be  a  pity  if  she  were 
to  'suffer :  I  am  very  glad.  But  there  is  another  side  to  the 
question,  Natalie ;  it  refers  to  you.  I  have  not  such  good  news 
for  you — that  is,  it  depends  on  how  you  take  it ;  but  it  is  not 
good  news — it  will  trouble  you — only,  it  was  inevitable — " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said,  calmly. 

"  Your  husband,"  he  said,  regarding  her  somewhat  anxiously. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  without  betraying  any  emotion. 

"  Well,  you  understand,  we  had  not  the  power  to  release  your 
English  friend  unless  there  had  been  injustice — or  worse — in 
his  being  appointed.  There  was.  More  than  that,  it  was  very 
nearly  a  repetition  of  the  old  story.  Your  husband  was  again 
implicated." 

She  merely  looked  at  him,  waiting  for  him  to  continue. 

"  And  the  Council,"  he  said,  more  embarrassed  than  ever, 
"  had  to  try  him  for  his  complicity.  He  was  tried  and — con- 
demned." 

"To  what  ?  "  she  said,  quite  calmly. 

"  You  must  know,  Natalie.     He  loses  his  life !  " 

She  turned  very  pale. 

"  It  was  not  so  before,"  she  managed  to  say,  though  her 
breath  came  and  went  quickly. 

"  It  was ;  but  then  he  was  pardoned.  This  time  there  is  no 
hope." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  second  or  two ;  then  she  said,  regard- 
ing him  with  a  sad  look, 

"You  think  me  heartless,  Stefan.  You  think  I  ought  to  be 
overwhelmed  with  grief.  But — but  I  have  been  kept  from  my 
child  for  seventeen  years.  I  have  lived  with  the  threat  of  the 
betrayal  of  my  father  hanging  over  me.  The  affection  of  a 
wife  cannot  endure  everything.  Still,  I  am — sorry — " 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  they  slowly  filled  with  tears. 
Von  Zoesch  breathed  more  freely.  He  was  eagerly  explain- 
ing to  her  how  this  result  had  become  inevitable — how  he  him- 
self had  had  no  participation  in  it,  arid  so  forth — when  Natalie 
Lind  stepped  quickly  up  to  them,  looking  from  the  one  to  the- 
other.  She  saw  something  was  wrong. 

"  Mother,  what  is  it  ? "  she  said,  in  vague  fear.  She  turned 
to  Von  Zoesch.  "Oh?  sir,  if  there  is  something  you  have 


392  SUNRISE. 

not  told  me — if  there  is  trouble — why  was  it  not  to  me  that 
you  spoke  ? " 

She  took  hold  of  her  mother's  hand. 

"  Mother,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  interposing,  "  you 
know  that  life  is  made  up  of  both  bitter  and  sweet — " 

"  I  wish  to  know,  signore,"  she  said,  proudly,  "what  it" is 
you  have  told  my  mother.  If  there  is  trouble,  it  is  for  her 
daughter  to  share  it." 

"  Well,  then,  dear  young  lady,  I  will  tell  you,"  he  said, 
"  though  it  will  grieve  you  also.  I  must  explain  to  you.  You 
cannot  suppose  that  the  happy  news  I  deliver  to  you  was  the 
result  of  the  will  of  any  one  man,  or  number  of  men.  No.  It 
was  the  result  of  the  application  of  law  and  justice.  Your — 
sweetheart,  shall  I  call  him  ? — was  intrusted  with  a  grave  duty, 
which  would  most  probably  have  cost  him  his  life.  In  the 
ordinary  way,  no  one  could  have  released  him  from  it,  however 
much  certain  friends  of  yours  here  might  have  been  interested 
in  you,  and  grieved  to  see  you  unhappy.  But  there  was  this 
possibility — it  was  even  a  probability — that  he  had  been  se- 
lected for  this  service  unfairly.  Then,  no  doubt,  if  that  could 
be  proved,  he  ought  to  be  released." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  impatiently. 

"  That  was  proved.  Unfortunately,  I  have  to  tell  you  that 
among  those  convicted  of  this  conspiracy  was  your  father. 
Well,  the  laws  of  our  association  are  strict — they  are  even 
terrible  where  a  delinquent  is  in  a  position  of  high  responsi- 
bility. My  clear  j^oung  lady,  I  must  tell  you  the  truth :  your 
father  has  been  adjudged  guilty — and — and  the  punishment 
is— death!" 

She  uttererd  a  quick,  short  cry  of  alarm,  and  turned  with 
frightened  eyes  to  her  mother. 

"  Mother,  is  it  true  ?  is  it  true  ? " 

The  mother  did  not  answer  ;  she  had  clasped  her  trembling 
hands.  Then  the  girl  turned  ;  there  was  a  proud  passion  in 
her  voice. 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  tiger  is  there  among  you  that  is  so  athirst 
for  blood  ?  You  save  one  man's  life — after  intercession  and 
prayer  you  save  one  man's  life — only  to  seize  on  that  of  an- 
other. And  it  is  to  me — it  is  to  me,  his  daughter — that  you 
come  with  congratulations  !  I  am  only  a  child  ;  I  am  to  be 
pleased  :  you  speak  of  a  sweetheart ;  but  you  do  not  tell  me 
that  you  are  about  to  murder  my  father  !  You  give  me  my 
lover ;  in  exchange  you  take  my  father's  life.  Is  there  a  wo* 


CONOR  A  TULA  TIONS.  393 

man  in  all  the  world  so  despicable  as  to  accept  her  happiness 
at  such  a  cost  ? " 

Involuntarily  she  crushed  up  the  telegram  she  held  in  her 
hand  and  threw  it  away  from  her. 

"  It  is  not  I,  at  all  events,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  signore, 
you  should  not  have  mocked  me  with  your  congratulations. 
That  is  not  the  happiness  you  should  offer  to  a  daughter. 
But  you  have  not  killed  him  yet — there  is  time  ;  let  things  he 
as  they  were  ;  that  is  what  my  sweetheart,  as  you  call  him,  will 
say ;  he  and  I  are  not  afraid  to  suffer.  Surely,  rather  that, 
than  that  he  should  marry  a  girl  so  heartless  and  cowardly  as 
to  purchase  her  happiness  at  the  cost  of  her  father's  life  ? " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  with  a  great  pity  and  con- 
cern in  his  face,  "  I  can  assure  you  what  you  think  of  is  im- 
possible. What  is  done  cannot  be  undone." 

Her  proud  indignation  now  gave  way  to  terror. 

"  Oh  no,  signore,  you  cannot  mean  that !  I  cannot  believe 
it !  You  have  saved  one  man — oh,  signore,  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,  this  other  also  !  Have  pity  !  How  can  I  live,  if  I 
know  that  I  have  killed  my  father  ? " 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  stove  to  soothe  down 
her  wild  terror  and  dismay.  He  declared  to  her  she  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it,  no  more  than  himself ;  that  her  father  had 
been  tried  by  his  colleagues  ;  that  if  he  had  not  been,  a  fearful 
act  of  treachery  would  have  been  committed.  She  listened, 
or  appeared  to  listen ;  but  her  lips  were  pale  ;  her  eyes  had  a 
strange  look  in  them  ;  she  was  breathless. 

"  Calabressa  said  they  were  all-powerful,"  she  interrupted 
suddenly.  "  But  are  they  all-powerful  to  slay  only  ?  Oh  no, 
I  cannot  believe  it !  I  will  go  to  them  ;  it  cannot  be  too  late  ; 
I  will  say  to  them  that  I  would  rather  have  died  than  appealed 
to  them  if  I  had  known  that  this  was  to  be  the  terrible  result. 
And  Calabressa — why  did  he  not  warn  me  ?  Or  is  he  one  of 
the  blood-thirsty  ones  also — one  of  the  tigers  that  crouch  in 
the  dark  ?  Oh,  signore,  if  they  are  all-powerful,  they  are  all- 
powerful  to  pardon.  May  I  not  go  to  themselves  ?" 

"  It  would  be  useless,  my  dear  signorina,"  said  Von  Zoesch, 
with  deep  compassion  in  his  voice.  "  I  am  sorry  to  grieve 
you,  but  justice  has  been  done,  and  the  decision  is  past  recall. 
And  do  not  blame  poor  old  Calabressa — " 

At  this  moment  the  bell  of  the  outer  gate  rang,  echoing 
through  the  empty  house,  and  he  started  somewhat. 

"  Come,  child,"  said  her  mother.  "  We  have  taken  up  too 
much  of  your  time,  Stefan.  I  wish  there  had  been  no  draw- 
back to  vour  srood  news." 


394  SUNRISE. 

"  At  the  present  moment,"  he  said,  glancing  somewhat 
anxiously  toward  the  building,  "  I  cannot  ask  you  to  stay, 
Natalie ;  but  on  some  other  occasion,  and  as  soon  as  you 
please,  I  will  give  you  any  information  you  may  wish.  Re- 
member, you  have  good  friends  here." 

Natalie  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away.  She  seemed  too 
horror-stricken  to  be  able  to  speak.  Von  Zoesch  accompa- 
nied them  only  to  the  terrace,  and  there  bade  them  good-bye. 
Granaglia  was  waiting  to  show  them  to  the  gate.  A  few  mo- 
ments afterward  they  were  in  their  carriage,  returning  to 
Naples. 

They  sat  silent  for  some  time,  the  mother  regarding  her 
daughter  anxiously. 

"  Natalushka,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ? " 

The  girl  started  :  her  eyes  were  filled  with  a  haunting  fear, 
as  if  she  had  just  seen  some  terrible  thing.  And  yet  she 
spoke  slowly  and  sadly  and  wistfully. 

"I  was  thinking,  mother,  that  perhaps  it  was  not  so  hard 
to  be  condemned  to  die ;  for  then  there  would  come  an  end 
to  one's  suffering.  And  I  was  wondering  whether  there  had 
been  many  women  in  the  world  who  had  to  accuse  themselves 
of  taking  a  part  in  bringing  about  their  own  father's  death. 
Oh,  I  hope  not — I  hope  not !  " 

A  second  afterward  she  added,  with  more  than  the  bitter- 
ness of  tears  in  her  trembling  voice,  "  And — and  I  was  think- 
ing of  General  von  Zoesch's  congratulations,  mother." 


CHAPTER    LVI. 

A   COMMISSION. 

LORD  EVELYN  obeyed  his  friend's  summons  in  considerable 
anxiety,  if  not  even  alarm  ;  for  he  made  no  doubt  that  it 
Had  some  connection  with  that  mysterious  undertaking  to 
which  Brand  was  pledged  ;  but  when  he  reached  Lisle 
Street,  and  was  shown  into  the  larger  room,  no  very  serious 
business  seemed  going  forward.  Two  or  three  of  the  best- 
known  to  him  among  the  English  members  of  the  Society 
were  present,  grouped  round  a  certain  Irish  M.  P.,  who,  with 
twinkling  eyes  but  otherwise  grave  face,  was  describing  the 
makeshifts  of  some  provincial  manager  or  other  who  could 
not  .pay  his  company  their  weekly  salary.  To  the  further  SUP 


A  COMMISSION  395 

prise  of  the  new-comer,  also,  Mr.  Lind  was  absent ;  his  chair 
was  occupied  by  Gathorne  Edwards. 

He  was  asked  to  go  into  an  inner  room  ;  and  there  he 
found  Brand,  looking  much  more  like  himself  than  he  had 
done  for  some  time  back. 

"  It  is  awfully  kind  of  you,  Evelyn,  to  come  at  once.  I 
heard  you  had  returned  to  town  yesterday.  Well,  what  of 
the  old  people  down  in  Wiltshire  ?  " 

Lord  Evelyn  was  quite  thrown  off  his  guard  by  this  frank 
cheerfulness.  He  forgot  the  uneasy  forebodings  with  which 
he  had  left  his  house. 

"  Oh,  capital  old  people  !  "  he  said,  putting  his  hat  and  un- 
brella  on  the  table — "  excellent.  But  you  see,  Brand,  it  be- 
comes a  serious  question  if  I  have  to  bury  myself  in  the 
country,  and  drink  port-wine  after  dinner,  and  listen  to  full- 
blown, full-fed  glorious  old  Tories,  every  time  a  sister  of 
mine  gets  engaged  to  be  married.  And  now  that  Rosalys 
has  begun  it,  they'll  all  take  to  it,  one  after  the  other,  like 
sheep  jumping  a  ditch." 

"They  say  Milbanke  is  a  very  nice  young  fellow,"  said 
Brand. 

"  Petted,  a  little.  But  then,  an  only  son,  and  heaps  of 
money :  perhaps  its  natural.  I  know  he  is  a  ghastly  hypo- 
crite," added  Lord  Evelyn,  who  seemed  to  have  some  little 
grudge  against  his  brother-in-law  in  prospect.  "It  was  too 
bad  of  him  to  go  egging  on  those  old  megatheria  to  talk  pol- 
itics until  they  were  red  in  the  face,  denouncing  Free-trade, 
and  abusing  the  Ballot,  and  foretelling  the  ruin  of  the  former 
as  soon  as  the  Education  Act  began  to  work.  Then  he  pre- 
tended to  be  on  their  side — " 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  sat  quiet.  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  eaten.  I  relapsed 
into  contemplation ;  and  began  to  compose  a  volume  on 
'  Tory  Types :  Some  Survivals  in  English  Politics.  For  the 
Information  of  Town  Readers.'  " 

"  Well,  now  you  have  done  your  duty,  and  cemented  the 
alliance  between  the  two  families — by  drinking  port-wine,  I 
suppose — what  do  you  say  to  a  little  pleasure-trip  ?  " 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  he  said,  looking  up  quickly.  "  Is  that 
what  your  note  meant  ?  " 

"  The  fact  is,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  with  a  trifle  of  embarrass- 
ment, "  Natalie  and  her  mother  are  in  Naples,  and  I  don't 
know  precisely  in  what  circumstances.  I  am  a  little  anxious 
about  them — I  should  like  to  know  more  of  their  surround- 
ings :  why,  for  one  thing,  I  don't  know  whether  they  have 


396  SUNRISE. 

any  money,  even.  I  would  go  over  myself,  Evelyn,  but  the 
truth  is  I  cannot — not  very  well.  At  least  I  ought  not  to  go  ; 
and  I  thought,  if  you  had  time — being  an  old  friend  of  Nata- 
lie's— you  would  like  to  see  that  she  was  all  right. 

"Where  is  Lind  ?  "  said  Lord  Evelyn,  suddenly. 

"  Lind  is  in  Italy  also,"  said  Brand,  evasively. 

"  Not  with  them  ? " 

"  Oh  no." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.     At  length  Brand  said, 

"  Something  very  serious  has  happened,  Evelyn  ;  and  the 
question  is  whether,  in  the  interests  of  the  Society,  it  should 
not  be  kept  a  secret,  if  it  is  possible." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  any  secret,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
simply.  "  I  am  willing  to  go  over  to  Naples  at  once,  if  I  can 
be  of  any  service." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you ;  I  thought  you  would  say  as  much," 
Brand  said,  still  hesitating.  "  But  then  I  doubt  whether  you 
could  be  of  much  service  unless  you  understood  the  whole 
situation  of  affairs.  At  present  only  two  over  here  know  what 
has  occurred — Edwards  and  myself.  Yes,  I  think  you  must 
know  also.  Read  this  letter  ;  it  came  only  last  night." 

He  unlocked  a  drawer,  took  out  a  letter,  and  gave  it  to 
Lord  Evelyn,  who  read  it  slowly.  When  he  had  finished,  he 
put  it  on  the  table  without  a  word. 

"  You  understand  ?  "  Brand  said,  calmly.  "  That  means 
that  Lind  is  to  be  punished  with  death  for  treachery.  Don't 
think  about  me  ;  I've  had  a  narrow  escape,  but  I  have  es- 
caped— thanks  to  Natalie's  courage  and  decision.  What  I 
am  concerned  about  is  the  effect  that  such  a  disclosure  might 
have  on  the  fortunes  of  the  Society.  Would  it  not  provoke 
a  widespread  feeling  of  disgust  ?  Wouldn't  there  always  be 
a  suspicion  ?  " 

"  But  you  yourself,  Brand  !  "  Evelyn  exclaimed,  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Why,  you — I  thought  you  would  be  the  first  to  re- 
sign, after  such  an  escape." 

"  I  have  fought  all  through  that,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  absently. 
"  It  was  my  first  impulse — I  confess  it.  The  thought  of  be- 
ing associated  with  such  men  sickened  me  ;  I  despaired  ;  I 
wished  they  had  never  been  found  out,  and  that  I  had  been 
let  blindly  go  on  to  the  end.  Well,  I  got  over  the  fit — with 
a  struggle.  It  was  not  reasonable,  after  all.  Surely  one's 
belief  in  the  future  of  the  Society  ought  to  be  all  the  firmer 
that  these  black  sheep  have  been  thrust  out  ?  As  for  myself, 
at  all  events,  I  ought  to  have  more  hope,  not  less.  I  never 
did  trust  Lind,  as  you  know ;  I  believed  in  his  work,  in  the 


A  COMMISSION.  397 

usefulness  of  it,  and  the  prospects  of  its  success  ;  but  I  never 
was  at  ease  in  his  presence  ;  I  was  glad  to  get  away  to  my 
own  work  in  the  north.  And  now,  with  the  way  clearer,  why 
should  one  think  of  giving  up  ?  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Eve- 
lyn, I  would  give  anything  to  be  in  America  at  the  present 
moment,  if  only  Natalie  and  her  mother  were  in  safety. 
There  is  a  chance  for  us  there  bigger  than  anything  Lind 
ever  dreamed  about.  You  know  the  Granges,  the  associa- 
tions of  the  '  Patrons  of  Husbandry,'  that  were  founded  by 
the  Scotchman  Saunders  ?  It  is  an  immense  social  organiz- 
ation ;  the  success  of  it  has  been  quite  unprecedented ;  they 
have  an  immense  power  in  their  hands.  And  it  isn't  only 
agriculture  they  deal  with ;  they  touch  on  politics  here  and 
there  ;  they  control  elections ;  and  the  men  they  choose  are 
invariably  men  of  integrity.  Well,  now,  don't  you  see  this 
splendid  instrument  ready-made  ?  From  what  I  hear  from 
Philadelphia—" 

Lord  Evelyn's  thoughts  were  elsewhere  than  in  Philadel- 
phia. 

"  You  must  tell  me  about  yourself,  Brand  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Your  life  is  no  longer  in  danger,  then  ?  How  has  it  hap- 
pened ? " 

"  Oh,"  said  Brand,  somewhat  carelessly,  "  I  don't  know  all 
the  particulars  as  yet.  What  I  do  know  is  that  Natalie  and 
her  mother  disappeared  from  London  ;  I  had  no  idea  whither 
they  had  gone.  Then  Calabressa  turned  up ;  and  I  heard 
that  Natalie  had  appealed  to  the  Council.  Fancy,  she,  a 
young  girl,  had  had  the  courage  to  go  and  appeal  to  the 
Council !  Then  Calabressa  suspected  something,  I  saw  by 
his  questions ;  then  Lind,  Beratinsky,  and  Reitzei  appear  to 
have  been  summoned  to  Naples.  The  result  is  in  that  letter ; 
that  is  about  all  I  know." 

"  And  these  others  in  there  ?  "  said  Lord  Evelyn,  glancing 
to  the  door. 

"  They  know  nothing  at  all.  That  is  what  I  am  uncertain 
about :  whether  to  leave  the  disappearance  of  Lind  unac- 
counted for — merely  saying  he  had  been  summoned  away  by 
the  Council — or  to  let  everybody  who  may  hear  of  it  under- 
stand that,  powerful  as  he  was,  he  had  to  succumb  to  the  laws 
of  the  Society,  and  accept  the  penalty  for  his  error.  I  am 
quite  uncertain ;  I  have  no  instructions.  You  might  find  out 
for  me  in  Naples,  Evelyn,  if  you  went  over  there — you  might 
find  out  what  they  consider  advisable." 

"  You  are  in  Lind's  place,  then  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he,  quickly,  and  with   a  slight  flush. 


"  Edwards  and  I  are  merely  keeping  the  thing  going  until 
matters  are  settled.  Did  you  notice  whether  Molyneux  was 
in  the  next  room  when  you  came  through  ? " 

"  Yes  he  was." 

"  Then  excuse  me  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  further  about  Naples." 

Brand  was  gone  some  time,  and  Lord  Evelyn  was  left  to 
ponder  over  these  strange  tidings.  To  him  they  were  very 
joyful  tidings ;  for  ever  since  that  communication  was  made 
to  him  of  the  danger  that  threatened  his  friend's  life,  he  had 
been  haunted  by  the  recollection  that,  but  for  him,  Brand 
would  in  all  probability  have  never  heard  of  this  association. 
It  was  with  an  infinite  sense  of  personal  relief  that  he  now 
knew  this  danger  was  past.  Already  he  saw  himself  on  his 
way  to  Naples,  to  find  out  the  noble  girl  who  had  taken  so 
bold  a  step  to  save  her  lover.  Not  yet  had  darkness  fallen 
over  these  two  lives. 

Brand  returned,  carefully  shut  the  door  after  him,  and 
seated  himself  on  a  corner  of  the  table. 

"  You  see,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  quite  in  his  old  matter-of-fact 
way,  "  I  can't  pretend  to  have  very  much  regret  over  what 
has  happened  to  Lind.  He  tried  to  do  me  an  ill  turn,  and 
he  has  got  the  worst  of  it ;  that  is  all.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
bear  him  no  malice  :  you  don't  want  to  hurt  a  man  when  he 
is  down.  I  can  guess  that  it  isn't  the  death-penalty  that  he 
is  thinking  most  of  now.  I  can  even  make  some  excuse  for 
him,  now  that  I  see  the  story  plain.  The  temptation  was 
great ;  always  on  the  understanding  that  he  was  against  my 
marrying  his  daughter ;  and  that  I  had  been  sure  of  it  for 
some  time.  To  punish  me  for  not  giving  up  my  property,  to 
keep  Natalie  to  himself,  and  to  get  this  difficult  duty  securely 
undertaken  all  at  once — it  was  worth  while  trying  for.  But 
his  way  of  going  about  it  was  shabby.  It  was  a  mean  trick. 
Well,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  that  point :  he  has 
played — played  a  foul  game — and  lost." 

He  added,  directly  afterward, 

"  So  you  think  you  can  go  to  Naples  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Evelyn,  with  promptness.  "  You  don't 
know  how  glad  I  am  about  this,  Brand.  If  you  had  come  to 
grief  over  your  relations  with  this  Society,  it  would  have  been 
like  a  mill-stone  hanging  on  my  conscience  all  my  life.  And 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  to  Italy  for  you.  I  should  like  to 
see  the  look  on  Natalie's  face." 

"  You  will  probably  find  her  in  great  trouble,"  Brand  said, 
gravelv. 


A  COMMISSION.  399 

"  In  trouble  ?  " 

"  Naturally.  Don't  you  see,  Evelyn,  she  could  not  have 
foreseen  that  the  result  of  her  appeal  would  involve  the  de- 
struction of  her  father.  It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  she 
could  have  foreseen  that.  I  know  her ;  she  would  not  have 
stirred  hand  or  foot.  And  now  that  this  has  been  discovered, 
it  is  not  her  father's  guilt  she  will  be  thinking  of ;  it  is  his 
fate,  brought  about  indirectly  by  herself.  You  may  be  sure, 
Evelyn,  she  will  not  be  overjoyed  at  the  present  moment. 
All  the  more  reason  why  one  who  knows  her  should  be  near 
her.  I  have  no  idea  what  sort  of  people  are  about  her ;  I 
should  be  more  satisfied  if  I  knew  you  were  there." 

"  I  am  ready  to  go ;  I  am  ready  to  start  this  afternoon,  as 
I  say,"  Evelyn  repeated ;  but  then  he  added,  with  some  hesi- 
tation :  "  But  I  am  not  going  to  play  the  part  of  a  hypocrite, 
Brand.  I  could  not  pretend  to  sympathize  with  her,  if  that 
is  the  cause  of  her  trouble ;  I  should  tell  her  it  served  her 
father  right. ' 

"  You  could  not  be  so  brutal  if  you  tried,  Evelyn,"  Brand 
said ;  "  you  might  think  so  :  you  could  not  tell  her  so.  But 
I  have  no  fear :  you  will  be  discreet  enough,  and  delicate 
enough,  when  you  see  her." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  say  from  you  ?  " 

"  From  me  ? "  he  said.  "  Oh,  you  can  say  I  thank  her  for 
having  saved  my  life.  That  will  be  enough,  I  think  ;  she  will 
understand  the  rest." 

"  I  mean,  what  do  you  advise  her  to  do  ?  Ought  they  to 
return  to  England  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  certainly.  Most  likely  she  will  be  waiting- 
there,  trying  to  get  the  Council  to  reverse  the  sentence. 
Having  been  successful  in  the  one  case,  the  poor  child  may 
think  she  ought  to  succeed  in  the  other.  I  fear  that  is  too 
much  to  expect.  However,  if  she  is  anxious,  she  may  try. 
I  should  like  to  know  there  was  somebody  near  her  she 
could  rely  on — don't  you  understand,  Evelyn  ? — to  see  that 
she  is  situated  and  treated  as  you  would  like  one  of  your 
own  sisters  to  be." 

"  I  see  what  it  is,  Brand,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  laughing, 
"  you  are  jealous  of  the  foreigners.  You  think  they  will  be 
using  tooth-picks  in  her  presence,  and  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  I  wish  to  know  that  she  and  her  mother  are  in  a  good 
hotel,"  said  Brand,  simply,  "  with  proper  rooms,  and  attend- 
ance, and — and  a  carriage :  women  can't  go  walking 
through  these  beastly  streets  of  Naples.  The  long  and 
short  of  it  is,  Evelyn,"  he  added,  with  some  embarrassment, 


400  S 

as  he  took  out  from  his  pocket-book  two  blank  checks,  and 
sat  down  at  the  table  and  signed  them,  "  I  want  you  to  play 
the  part  of  big  brotjier  to  them,  don't  you  know  ?  And  you 
will  have  to  exercise  skill  as  well  as  force.  Don't  you  see, 
Calabressa  is  the  best  of  fellows ;  but  he  would  think  noth- 
ing of  taking  them  to  stay  in  some  vile  restaurant,  if  the  pro- 
prietor were  politically  inclined — " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  see :  garlic ;  cigarettes  during  breakfast, 
right  opposite  the  ladies ;  wine-glasses  used  as  finger-glasses  : 
well,  you  are  a  thorough  Englishman,  Brand  ! " 

"  I  suppose,  when  your  sisters  go  abroad,  you  see  that 
they  are  directed  to  a  proper  hotel  ?  "  said  Brand,  somewhat 
angrily. 

"  I  know  this,"  said  Evelyn,  laughing,  "  that  my  sisters, 
and  you,  and  Calabressa,  and  myself,  all  boiled  together, 
wouldn't  make  half  as  good  a  traveller  as  Natalie  Lind  is. 
Don't  you  believe  she  has  been  led  away  into  any  shimmy 
place,  for  the  sake  of  politics  or  anything  else.  I  will  bet  she 
knows  the  best  hotels  in  Naples  as  well  as  you  do  the  Walde- 
grave  Club." 

"  At  any  rate,  you've  got  to  play  the  big  brother,  Evelyn ; 
and  it  is  my  affair,  of  course ;  I  will  not  allow  you  to  be  out 
of  pocket  by  it.  Here  are  two  checks ;  you  can  fill  them  in 

over  there  when  you  see  how  matters  stand ; ,  at  Rome, 

will  cash  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  have  to  pay  their  hotel-bills  ?  " 

"  If  they  have  plenty  of  money,  certainly  not ;  but  you 
must  find  out.  You  must  take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  It  is 
far  more  likely  that  they  have  so  little  money  that  they  may 
be  becoming  anxious.  Then  you  must  use  a  firm  hand — I 
mean  with  Natalie.  Her  mother  will  acquiesce.  And  you 
can  tell  Natalie  that  if  she  would  buy  something — some 
dress,  or  something — for  the  mother  of  old  Calabressa,  who 
is  still  living — at  Spezia,  I  think — she  would  make  the  old 
chap  glad.  And  that  would  be  a  mark  of  my  gratitude  also ; 
you  see,  I  have  never  had  even  the  chance  of  thanking  him  as 
yet." 

Lord  Evelyn  rose. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  I  will  send  you  a  report  of  my  mis- 
sion. How  am  I  to  find  them  ?  " 

"  You  must  find  them  through  Calabressa,"  he  said,  "  for  I 
have  not  got  their  address.  So  you  can  start  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  Then  I  will  telegraph  at  once  to  Calabressa  to  let  them 


FAREWELL!  401 

know  you  are  coming.     Mind  you,  I  am  very  grateful  to  you, 
Evelyn ;  though  I  wish  I  was  going  in  your  stead." 

Lord  Evelyn  got  some  further  instructions  as  to  how  he 
was  to  discover  Calabressa  on  his  arrival  in  Naples  ;  and  that 
evening  he  began  his  journey  to  the  south.  He  set  out>  in- 
deed, with  a  light  heart.  He  knew  that  Natalie  would  be 
glad  to  have  a  message  from  England. 

At  Genoa  he  had  to  break  the  journey  for  a  day,  having 
some  commission  to  perform  on  behalf  of  the  Society :  this 
was  a  parting  bequest  from  Gathorne  Edwards.  Then  on 
again ;  and  in  due  time  he  entered  Naples. 
'  He  scarcely  noticed,  as  he  entered  the  vehicle  and  drove 
away  to  his  hotel,  what  bare-footed  lads  outside  the  station 
were  bawling  as  they  offered  the  afternoon  papers  to  the 
newly-arrived  passengers.  What  interest  had  he  in  Zacca- 
telli  ? 

But  what  the  news-venders  were  calling  aloud  was  this  : 

"  The  death  of  the  Cardinal  Zaccatclli  f  Death  of  Zaccatelli  ! 
The  death  of  the  Cardinal  Zaccatelli!" 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

FAREWELL  ! 

"  NATALUSHKA,"  said  the  tender  and  anxious  mother,  laying 
her  hand  on  the  girl's  head,  "  you  must  bestir  yourself.  If 
you  let  grief  eat  into  your  heart  like  that,  you  will  become 
ill;  and  what  shall  we  do  then,  in  a  strange  hotel?  You 
must  bestir  yourself ;  and  put  away  those  sad  thoughts  of 
yours.  I  can  only  tell  you  again  and  again  that  it  was  none 
of  your  doing.  It  was  the  act  of  the  Council  :  how  could 
you  help  it  ?  And  how  can  you  help  it  now  ?  My  old  friend 
Stefan  says  it  is  beyond  recall.  Come,  Natalushka,  you 
must  not  blame  yourself ;  it  is  the  Council,  not  you,  who 
have  done  this  ;  and  no  doubt  they  think  they  acted  justly." 

Natalie  did  not  answer.  She  sighed  slightly.  Her  eyes 
were  turned  toward  the  blue  waters  beyond  the  Castello 
dell'  Ovo. 

"  Child,"  the  mother  continued,  "  we  must  leave  Naples." 

"  Leave  Naples  !  "  the  girl  cried,  with  a  sudden  look  of 
alarm;  "having  clone  nothing — having  tried  nothing?" 
Then  she  added,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Well,  yes,  mother,  I  sup- 
pose it  is  true  what  they  say,  that  one  can  do  nothing  by 


402  SUNRISE. 

remaining.  Perhaps — perhaps  we  ought  to  go  ;  and  yet  it 
is  terrible." 

She  shivered  slightly  as  she  spoke. 

"  You  see,  Natalushka,"  her  mother  said,  determined  to 
distract  her  attention  somehow,  "  this  is  an  expensive  hotel ; 
we  must  be  thinking  of  what  money  we  have  left  to  take  us 
back.  We  have  been  here  some  time  ;  and  it  is  a  costly 
journey,  all  the  way  to  England." 

"  Oh,  but  not  to  England — not  to  England,  mother  ! " 
Natalie  exclaimed,  quickly. 

"  Why  not  to  England/then  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  else,  mother,"  the  daughter  pleaded.  If  you 
wish  it,  we  will  go  away :  no  doubt  General  von  Zoesch 
knows  best ;  there  is  no  hope.  We  will  go  away  from 
Naples,  mother  ;  and — and  you  know  I  shall  not  be  much  of 
a  tax  on  you.  We  will  live  cheaply  somewhere  ;  and  per- 
haps I  could  help  a  little  by  teaching  music,  as  Madame 
Potecki  does.  Whenever  you  wish  it,  I  am  ready  to  go." 

"  But  why  not  to  England  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  mother." 

She  rose  quickly,  and  passed  into  her  own  room  and  shut 
the  door. 

There  she  stood  for  a  second  or  two,  irresolute  and  breath- 
less, like  one  who  had  just  escaped  into  a  place  of  refuge. 
Then  her  eyes  fell  on  her  writing  desk,  which  was  on  a  side- 
table,  and  open.  Slowly,  and  with  a  strange,  pained  ex- 
pression about  her  mouth,  she  went  and  sat  down,  and  took 
out  some  writing  materials,  and  absently  and  mechanically 
arranged  them  before  her.  Her  eyes  were  tearless,  but  once 
or  twice  she  sighed  deeply.  After  a  time  she  began  to  write 
with  an  unsteady  hand  : 

"  MY  DEAREST, — You  must  let  me  send  you  a  few  lines  of 
farewell ;  for  it  would  be  hard  if,  in  saying  good-bye,  one 
were  not  permitted  to  say  a  kind  word  or  two  that  could  be 
remembered  afterward.  And  your  heart  will  have  already 
told  you  why  it  is  not  for  you  and  me  now  to  look  forward  to 
the  happiness  that  once  seemed  to  lie  before  us.  You  know 
what  a  terrible  result  has  followed  from  my  rashness  ;  but 
then  you  are  free — that  is  something ;  for  the  rest,  perhaps 
it  is  less  misery  to  die,  than  to  live  and  know  that  you  have 
caused  another's  death.  You  remember,  the  night  they 
played  Fidelia,  I  told  you  I  should  always  try  to  remain 
worthy  of  your  love  ;  and  how  could  I  keep  that  promise  if  J 
permitted  myself  to  think  of  enjoying  a  happiness  that  was 


FAREWELL!  403 

made  possible  at  the  cost  of  my  father's  life  ?  You  could 
not  marry  a  woman  so  unnatural,  so  horrible  :  a  marriage 
purchased  at  such  a  price  would  be  foredoomed;  there 
would  be  a  guilty  consciousness,  a  life-long  remorse.  But 
why  do  I  speak  ?  Your  heart  tells  you  the  same  thing. 
There  only  remains  for  us  to  say  good-bye,  and  to  thank 
God  for  the  gleam  of  happiness  that  shone  on  us  for  a  little 
time. 

"  And  you,  my  dearest  of  friends,  you  will  send  me  also  a 
little  message,  that  I  can  treasure  as  a  remembrance  of  by- 
gone days.  And  you  must  tell  me  also  whether  what  has 
occurred  has  deterred  you  from  going  farther,  or  whether 
you  still  remain  hoping  for  better  things  in  the  world,  and 
resolved  to  do  what  you  can  to  bring  them  about.  That 
would  be  a  great  consolation  to  me,  to  know  that  your  life 
still  had  a  noble  object.  Then  the  world  would  not  be  quite 
blank,  either  for  you  or  for  me ;  you  with  your  work,  I  with 
this  poor,  kind  mother  of  mine,  who  needs  all  the  affection  I 
can  give  her.  Then  I  hope  to  hear  of  you  from  time  to  time  ; 
but  my  mother  and  myself  do  not  return  to  England. 

"  And  now  what  am  I  to  say,  being  so  far  away  from  you, 
that  will  sound  pleasant  to  you,  and  that  you  will  remember 
after  with  kindness  ?  I  look  back  now  over  the  time  since  I 
have  known  you,  and  it  appears  a  beautiful  dream — anxious 
sometimes,  and  troubled,  but  always  with  a  golden  future 
before  it  that  almost  bewildered  the  eyes.  And  what  am  I 
to  say  of  your  goodness,  so  unvarying  and  constant ;  and 
your  thoughtfulness  ;  and  your  great  unselfishness  and  out- 
spokenness ?  When  was  there  the  least  misunderstanding 
between  us  ?  I  could  read  your  heart  like  my  own.  Only 
once,  you  remember,  was  there  a  chance  of  a  shadow  coming 
between  us — through  my  own  folly ;  and  yet  perhaps  it  was 
only  natural  for  a  girl,  fancying  that  everything  was  going  to 
be  smooth  and  happy  in  her  life,  to  look  back  on  what  she 
had  said  in  times  of  trouble,  and  to  be  afraid  of  having  spoken 
with  too  little  reserve.  But  then  you  refused  to  have  even 
the  slightest  lovers'  quarrel ;  you  laughed  away  my  folly.  Do 
you  wonder  if  I  was  more  than  ever  glad  that  I  had  given 
my  life  into  your  wise  and  generous  guidance  ?  And  it  is 
not  now,  when  I  am  speaking  to  you  for  the  last  time,  that  I 
can  regret  having  let  you  know  what  my  feelings  were  toward 
you.  Oh,  my  darling  !  you  must  not  imagine,  because  these 
words  that  I  am  writing  are  cold  and  formal,  that  my  heart 
beats  any  the  less  quickly  when  I  think  of  you  and  the  days 
we  were  together.  I  said  to  you  that  I  loved  you  ;  I  say  to 


404  SUNRISE. 

you  now  that  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart,  and  I  have  no 
feeling  of  shame.  If  you  were  here,  I  would  look  into  your 
face  and  repeat  it — I  think  without  a  blush ;  I  would  kiss 
you  ;  I  would  tell  you  that  I  honor  you ;  that  I  had  looked 
forward  to  giving  you  all  the  trust  and  affection  and  devotion 
of  a  wife.  That  is  because  I  have  faith  in  you ;  my  soul 
is  open  and  clear  to  you  ;  read,  and  if  you  can  find  there 
anything  but  admiration  for  your  nobleness  of  heart,  and 
earnest  hopes  for  your  happiness,  and  gratitude  to  you  for 
all  your  kindness,  then,  and  not  otherwise,  shall  I  have  cause 
for  shame. 

"  Now  I  have  to  send  you  my  last  word  of  good-bye — " 
[She  had  borne  up  so  far ;  but  now  she  put  the  pen  aside, 
and  bent  her  head  down  on  to  her  hands,  and  her  frame  was 
shaken  with    her   sobbing.     When  she  resumed,  she  could 
scarcely  see  for  the  bitter  tears  that  kept  welling  her  eyes.] 

" — and  you  think,  looking  at  these  cold  words  on  the 
paper,  that  it  was  easy  for  me  to  do  so.  It  has  not  been  so 
easy.  I  pray  God  to  bless  you,  and  keep  you  brave  and  true 
and  unselfish,  and  give  you  happiness  in  the  success  of  your 
work.  And  I  ask  a  line  from  you  in  reply — not  sad,  but 
something  that  I  may  look  at  from  time  to  time,  and  that 
will  make  me  believe  you  have  plenty  of  interests  and  hopes 
in  the  world,  and  that  you  do  not  altogether  regret  that  you 
and  I  met,  and  were  friends,  for  a  time.  NATALIE." 

This  was  a  strange  thing  :  she  took  another  sheet  of  paper, 
and  slowly  and  with  a  trembling  hand  wrote  on  it  these  words, 
"Your  Wife.'1'  That  was  all.  No  doubt  it  was  the  signa- 
ture she  had  hoped  one  day  to  use.  She  regarded  it  long, 
and  earnestly,  and  sadly,  until,  indeed,  she  could  not  see  it 
for  the  tears  that  rose  afresh  into  her  eyes.  Then  she  tore 
up  the  piece  of  paper  hastily,  folded  her  letter  and  addressed 
it,  without  sealing  the  envelope,  and  carried  it  into  the  other 
room. 

"  Read  it  mother,"  she  said ;  and  she  turned  to  the  win- 
dow to  conceal  her  tear-stained  face. 

The  mother  opened  the  letter  and  glanced  at  it. 

"  You  forget,  child,"  she  said,  "  I  know  so  little  English. 
Tell  me  what  it  is  you  have  written." 

So  she  was  forced  to  turn  ;  and  apparently,  as  she  spoke, 
she  was  quite  calm  ;  but  there  was  a  darkness  underneath  her 
eyes,  and  there  was  in  her  look  something  of  the  worn,  sad 
expression  of  her  mother's  face.  Briefly  and  simply  she 
repeated  the  substance  of  the  letter,  giving  no  reasons  or 


FAREWELL!  405 

justifications.  She  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  her 
decision  was  unavoidable,  and  would  be  seen  to  be  so  by 
every  one. 

"  Natalushka,"  the  mother  said,  looking  anxiously  at  the 
troubled  face,  "  do  you  know  what  you  are  about  to  do  ?  It 
is  an  act  of  expiation  for  something  you  have  not  com- 
mitted." 

"  Could  I  do  otherwise  ?  "  she  said.  "  You,  mother : 
would  you  have  me  think  of  a  marriage  procured  through  my 
father's  death  ?  It  is  too  horrible  !  " 

The  mother  went  to  her,  and  took  her  two  hands. 

"  My  poor  child,  are  you  to  have  no  happier  life  than  I 
have  had,  after  all  ?  When  I  used  to  see  you,  I  used  to  say 
to  myself,  '  Ah,  my  little  Natalushka  will  never  know  what 
has  befallen  me — she  will  have  a  happy  life  ! '  I  could  see 
you  laughing  as  you  walked  in  the  gardens  there.  You 
looked  so  pleased,  so  content,  so  bright  and  cheerful.  And 
now  you  also  are  to  have  a  life  of  disappointment  and  sad 
memories — " 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  talk  like  that,  mother,"  the  girl  said, 
hastily,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Have  I  not  you  with  me  ?  We 
shall  always  be  together,  shall  we  not  ?  And  you  know  we 
shall  not  have  time  for  brooding  over  what  is  past ;  we  shall 
have  much  to  do ;  we  must  make  a  pleasant  small  home 
somewhere.  Oh,  there  are  many,  many  people  far  worse  off 
in  the  world  than  we  are.  So  you  must  think  of  getting  away 
from  Naples,  mother  ;  and  think  of  where  you  would  like  to 
live,  and  where  I  should  be  most  likely  to  be  able  to  earn  a 
little.  The  years  will  teach  us  to  forget — and — and —  And 
now  you  know  why  I  do  not  wish  to  go  back  to  England." 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  but  she  was  forcing  herself  to 
speak  quite  cheerfully. 

"  You  see,  mother,  my  knowing  English  is  a  great  advan- 
tage. If  we  were  to  go  to  one  of  the  towns  on  the  Riviera, 
like  Nice  or  Mentone,  where  so  many  English  families  are, 
one  might  get  pupils  who  would  want  to  learn  English  songs 
as  well  as  Italian  and  German — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Natalushka ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  have  you 
slave  for  me.  The  little  allowance  that  my  cousins  send  me 
will  do  very  well  for  us  two,  though  you  will  not  get  so  fine 
dresses.  Then,  you  see,  Natalushka,  Mentone  or  Nice  would 
be  a  dear  place  to  live  in." 

"Very  well,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  same  apparent 
cheerfulness,  "  I  will'go  down  and  post  my  letter,  and  at  the. 
same  time  get  the  loan  of  a  guide  book.  Then  we  shall  study 


406  SUNRISE. 

the  maps,  and  pick  out  a  nice,  quiet,  remote  little  place, 
where  we  can  live — and  forget/' 

The  last  two  words  were  uttered  to  herself  as  she  opened 
the  door  and  went  out.  She  sighed  a  little  as  she  went  clown 
the  staircase — that  was  all ;  she  was  thinking  of  things  very 
far  away.  She  passed  into  the  hall,  and  went  to  the  bureau 
for  some  postage-stamps.  As  she  stood  there,  some  one,  un- 
perceived,  came  up  to  her  :  it  was  Calabressa. 

"  Little  daughter,"  said  he,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

She  uttered  a  slight  cry,  and  shrunk  back. 

"  Little  daughter,"  said  he,  holding  out  his  hand. 

But  some  strange  instinct  possessed  her.  She  could  not 
avoid  touching  his  hand — or  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  rather — 
for  one  brief  second ;  then  she  turned  away  from  him  with  an 
involuntary  shudder,  and  went  back  through  she  hall,  her 
head  bent  down.  Calabressa  stood  looking  after  her  for  a 
moment  or  two,  then  he  turned  and  left  the  hotel. 

He  walked  quickly  :  there  were  tears  running  down  his 
face.  He  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left ;  he  was 
talking  in  a  broken  voice  to  himself ;  he  repeated  again  and 
again,  "  No,  she  shall  not  turn  away  from  me.  She  will  be 
sorry  for  that  soon.  She  will  say  she  should  not  have  crushed 
the  heart  of  her  old  friend  Calabressa." 

He  walked  out  to  Posilipo.  Near  the  villa  where  he  had 
formerly  sought  the  representatives  of  the  Council  he  passed 
an  old  woman  who  was  selling  fruit  by  the  roadside.  She 
glanced  up  at  him,  and  said, 

"  The  door  is  closed,  signore." 

"The  door  must  be  opened,  good  mother,"  said  he,  scarcely 
regarding  her  as  he  hurried  on. 

Arrived  in  the  garden  of  the  villa,  his  summons  brought 
out  to  the  entrance  of  the  grotto  the  Secretary  Granaglia, 
who  somewhat  impatiently  told  him  that  it  was  quite  impossi- 
ble that  any  member  of  the  Council  should  see  him. 

"  And  no  doubt  it  is  about  that  Lind  affair  ?  " 

"  Indirectly  only,"  Calabressa  said.  "  No,  it  concerns 
myself  mostly." 

"  Quite  enough  time,  the  Council  think,  has  been  given  to 
the  Lind  affair.  I  can  tell  you,  my  friend,  there  are  more 
important  matters  stirring.  Now,  farewell ;  I  am  wanted 
within." 

However,  by  dint  of  much  persuasion,  Calabressa  got 
Granaglia  to  take  in  a  message  to  Von  Zoesch.  And,  sure 
enough,  his  anticipations  were  correct ;  the  good-natured, 


FAREWELL  ?  407 

bluff  old  soldier  made  his  appearance,  and  seemed  glad  to 
get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Well,  well,  Calabressa,  what  is  it  now  ?  Are  you  not 
all  satisfied  ?  the  young  lady  with  her  sweetheart,  and  all 
that  ?  You  rogue  !  you  guessed  pretty  rightly  ;  to  tell  them 
the  news  was  no  light  matter ;  but  by-and-by  she  will  be- 
come reconciled.  Her  lover  is  to  be  envied  ;  she  is  a  beauti- 
ful child,  and  she  has  courage.  Well,  are  they  not  satisfied  ?  " 

"I  crave  your  pardon,  Excellency,  for  intruding  upon 
you,"  Calabressa  said,  in  a  sort  of  constrained  voice.  "  It  is 
my  own  affair  that  brings  me  here.  I  shall  not  waste  your 
time.  Your  Excellency,  I  claim  to  be  substitute  for  Ferdi- 
nand Lind. 

The  tall  soldier  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you,  Calabressa  ;  have 
you  gone  mad  ?  " 

For  a  second  Calabressa  stood  silent ;  his  eyes  downcast ; 
his  fingers  working  nervously  with  the  cap  he  held  in  his 
hands. 

"  Your  Excellency,"  he  said,  as  if  struggling  to  repress 
some  emotion,  "  it  is  a  simple  matter.  I  have  been  to  see 
the  beautiful  child  you  speak  of ;  I  addressed  her,  in  the  hall 
of  the  hotel ;  she  turned  away  from  me,  shuddering,  as  if  I 
were  a  murderer — from  me,  who  loves  her  more  than  I  love 
life.  Oh,  your  Excellency,  do  not  smile  at  it ;  it  is  not  a 
girlish  caprice ;  she  has  a  noble  heart ;  it  is  not  a  little  thing 
that  would  make  her  cruel.  I  know  what  she  thinks — that 
I  have  been  the  means  of  procuring  her  father's  death.  Be 
it  so.  I  will  give  her  father  his  life  again.  Take  mine — 
what  do  I  care  ?  " 

"Nonsense,  nonsense,  my  Calabressa.  The  girl  has  be- 
witched you.  One  must  talk  to  her.  Take  your  life  in  ex- 
change for  that  of  Lind  ?  Pooh !  We  cannot  send  good 
men  after  bad ;  you  are  too  valuable  to  us  ;  whereas  he,  if  he 
were  released,  could  be  of  no  more  use  at  all.  It  is  a 
generous  notion  on  your  part,  friend  Calabressa,  but  it  is 
quixotic ;  moreover,  impossible." 

"  You  forget,  Excellency,  that  I  can  claim  it,"  said  Calabres- 
sa, firmly.  "  Under  Article  V.  I  can  claim  to  be  the  substitute 
of  Ferdinand  Lind.  Your  Excellency  yourself  has  not  the 
power  to  refuse  me.  I  call  upon  you  to  release  Lind  from 
the  death-penalty  :  to-morrow  I  will  take  his  place ;  then  you 
can  send  a  message  to — to  Natalie  Berezolyi's  daughter,  that, 
if  I  have  wronged  her,  I  have  made  amends." 

Von  Zoesch  grew  more  serious ;  he  eved  Calabressa  curi- 


4o8  SUNRISE. 

ously.  The  elder  man  stood  there  trembling  a  little  with 
nervous  excitement,  but  with  a  firm  look  on  his  face :  there 
was  no  doubt  about  his  resolve. 

"  Friend  Calabressa,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  in  a  kindly  way, 
"  it  seems  as  if  you  had  transferred  your  old  love  for  Natalie 
Berezolyi  to  Natalie's  daughter,  only  with  double  intensity : 
but,  you  see,  we  must  not  allow  you  to  sacrifice  yourself 
merely  because  a  girl  turns  her  heel  on  you.  It  is  not  to  be 
thought  of  We  cannot  afford  to  lose  you ;  besides,  it  is 
monstrous  that  the  innocent  should  suffer,  and  the  guilty  go 
free—" 

"  The  articles  of  the  Society,  your  Excellency — " 

"  That  particular  article,  my  Calabressa,  was  framed  with 
a  view  to  encourage  self-sacrifice  and  generosity,  no  doubt ; 
but  not  with  a  view,  surely,  to  any  such  extreme  madness  as 
this.  No.  The  fact  is,  I  had  no  time  to  explain  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case  to  the  young  lady,  or  I  could  easily  have 
shown  her  how  you  were  no  more  involved  than  herself  in 
procuring  the  decree  against  her  father.  To-day  I  cannot ; 
to-morrow  I  cannot;  the  day  after  to-morrow,  I  solemnly 
assure  you,  T  will  see  her,  and  reason  with  her,  and  convince 
her  that  you  have  acted  throughout  as  her  best  friend  only 
could  have  done.  You  are  too  sensitive,  my  Calabressa  :  ah, 
is  it  not  the  old  romance  recalled  that  is  making  you  so  ? 
But  this  I  promise  you,  that  she  shall  beg  your  pardon  for 
having  turned  away  from  you." ! 

"Then,"  said  Calabressa,  with  a  little  touch  of  indignant 
pride,  "  then  your  Excellency  imagines  that  it  is  my  vanity 
that  has  been  wounded  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it  is  your  heart.  And  she  will  be  sorry  for  having 
pained  a  true  friend  :  is  not  that  as  it  should  be  ?  Why,  your 
proposal,  if  she  agreed  to  it,  what  would  be  the  result  ?  You 
would  stab  her  with  remorse.  For  this  momentary  slight  you 
would  say,  '  See,  I  have  killed  myself.  Learn  now  that 
Calabressa  loved  you.'  But  that  would  be  very  like  revenge, 
my  Calabressa ;  and  you  ought  not  to  think  of  taking  re- 
venge on  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi." 

"  Your  Excellency—" 

Calabressa  was  about  to  protest ;  but  he  was  stopped. 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  my  friend.  The  day  after  to-morrow  we 
shall  have  more  leisure.  Meanwhile,  no  more  thoughts  of 
quixotism.  Addio  f  " 


A  SACRIFICE,  409 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 

A  SACRIFICE. 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  Calabressa  was  alto- 
gether sincere  in  claiming  to  become  the  substitute  for  Fer- 
dinand Lind,  or  whether  he  was  not  practising  a  little  self- 
deception,  and  pacifying  his  wounded  pride  and  ^  affection 
by  this  outburst  of  generosity,  while  secretly  conscious  that 
his  offer  would  not  be  accepted.  However,  what  Calabressa 
had  declared  himself  ready  to  do,  in  a  fit  of  wild  sentimen- 
talism,  another  had  already  done,  in  terrible  earnest.  A  use- 
less life  had  suddenly  become  ennobled  by  a  tragic  and  self- 
sacrificing  death. 

Two  days  after  Lord  Evelyn  left  for  Naples,  Brand  and 
Gathorne  Edwards  were  as  usual  in  the  chambers  in  Lisle 
Street,  and,  the  business  of  the  morning  being  mostly  over, 
they  were  chatting  together.  There  was  a  brighter  look  on 
George  Brand's  face  than  there  had  been  there  for  many  a 
day. 

"  What  an  indefatigable  fellow  that  Molyneux  is  !  "  Ed- 
wards was  saying. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  some  one  can  do  something,"  Brand 
answered.  "  As  for  me,  I  can't  settle  clown  to  anything.  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  living  on  laughing-gas  these  last  two 
days.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  come  alive  again  into  another  world, 
and  was  a  little  bit  bewildered  just  as  yet,  However,  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  get  shaken  into  our  new  positions  by-and-by ; 
and  the  sooner  they  let  us  know  their  final  arrangements  the 
better.'"' 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Edwards,  carelessly,  "  now  that  I  have 
left  the  the  Museum  I  don't  care  where  I  may  have  to  go." 

At  this  moment  a  note  was  brought  in  by  the  old  German, 
and  handed  to  Edwards.  He  glanced  at  the  straggling,  al- 
most illegible,  address  in  pencil  on  the  dirty  -envelope. 

"  Well,  this  is  too  bad,"  he  said,  impatiently. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  fellow  Kirski.  He  is  off  again,  I  can  see  by  his 
writing.  He  never  was  very  good  at  it ;  but  this  is  the  hand- 
writing of  delirium  tremens." 

He  opened  the  letter,  and  glanced  at  the  first  page. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  said,  in  disgust,  "  he's  off  again,  clearly." 

*«  What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  The   usual   rigmarole — only   not   quite    so    legible  :    the 


410  SUNRISE. 

beautiful  angel  who  was  so  kind  to  him — he  has  taken  her 
portrait  from  its  hiding-place — it  is  sacred  now — no  more 
public  house — well,  it  looks  rather  as  if  he  had  been  to  sev- 
eral." 

At  this  point,  however,  Edwards's  pale,  high  forehead 
flushed  a  little. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  told  him  ;  but  he  speaks  of  Miss  Lind 
being  in  trouble — and  he  says  God  never  meant  one  so  beau- 
tiful and  kind  as  she  to  be  in  trouble — and  if  her  father — " 

His  face  grew  grave. 

"  What  is  this  ?  " 

He  turned  the  leaf  suddenly,  and  glanced  at  the  remainder 
of  the  letter. 

"  Good  God !  what  does  the  man  mean  ?  What  has  he 
done  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

His  face  was  quite  pale.  The  letter  dropped  from  his 
hands.  Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Come,  Brand — quick — quick  !  "  he  said,  hurriedly.  "You 
must  come  with  me — " 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ? "  Brand  said,  following  him  in 
amazement. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Edwards,  almost  incoherently.  "  He 
may  be  raving — it  may  only  be  drunkenness — but  he  says  he 
is  about  to  kill  himself  in  place  of  Lind :  the  young  lady 
shall  not  be  troubled — she  was  kind  to  him,  and  he  is  grate- 
ful. I  am  to  send  her  a  message." 

By  this  time  the  two  friends  were  hurrying  to  the  dingy 
little  thoroughfare  in  which  Kirski  had  his  lodgings. 

"Don't  alarm  yourself,  Edwards,"  said  Brand;  "he  has 
broken  out  again,  that  is  all." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  He  was  at  his  work  yesterday,  and 
sober  enough." 

"  His  brain  may  have  given  way,  then ;  it  was  never  very 
strong.  But  these  continual  ravings  about  murder  or  suicide 
are  dangerous  ;  they  will  develop  into  homicidal  mania,  most 
likely  ;  and  if  he  cannot  get  at  his  enemy  Michaieloff  he  may 
do  a  mischief  to  somebody  else." 

"  I  hope  he  has  not  done  a  mischief  to  himself  already," 
said  Edwards,  who  had  had  more  opportunities  than  his  com- 
panion of  studying  the  workings  of  Kirski's  disordered  brain. 

They  reached  the  house  and  knocked  at  the  door.  The 
landlady  made  her  appearance. 

"  Is  Kirski  in  the  house  ? "  Edwards  asked,  eagerly. 

"  No,  he  ain't,"  she  said,  with  but  scant  courtesy. 


A  SACRIFICE.  411 

"  Thank  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  great  relief.  "  You  are 
sure  ?  He  went  out  to  his  work  as  usual  ? " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  said  the  woman,  who  v/as  evi- 
dently not  on  good  terms  with  her  lodger. 

"  He  had  his  breakfast  as  usual  ?  " 

"  His  breakfast !  "  she  said  scornfully.  "  No,  he  hadn't. 
He  may  pick  up  his  breakfast  about  the  streets,  like  a  cat ; 
but  he  don't  have  any  'ere.  And  a  cat  he  is,  sneaking  up 
and  down  the  stairs  :  how  do  I  know  whether  he  is  in  the 
house  or  whether  he  ain't  ?  " 

At  this  Edwards  turned  pale  again  with  a  sudden  fear. 
Brand  interposed. 

"  You  don't  know  ?  Then  show  us  his  room ;  we  will  see 
for  ourselves." 

He  passed  the  woman,  leaving  her  to  shut  the  door,  and 
went  into  the  small  dark  passage,  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  Grumbling  to  herself,  she  came  along  to  show 
them  the  way.  It  did  not  pay  her  to  waste  her  time  like  this, 
she  said,  for  a  lodger  who  took  no  food  in  the  house,  and 
spent  his  earnings  in  the  gin-shop.  She  should  not  be  sur- 
prised if  they  were  to  find  him  asleep  at  that  time  of  the  day. 
He  had  ways  like  a  cat. 

The  landing  they  reached  was  as  dark  as  the  staircase ;  so 
that  when  she  turned  a  handle  and  flung  a  door  open  there 
was  a  sudden  glare  of  light.  At  the  same  moment  she 
uttered  a  shrill  scream,  and  retreated  backward.  She  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  some  horrible  thing — she  hardly  knew 
what.  It  was  the  body  of  the  man  Kirski  lying  prone  upon 
the  uncarpeted  floor,  his  hands  clinched.  There  was  a  dark 
pool  of  blood  beside  him. 

Edwards  sunk  shuddering  into  a  chair,  sick  and  faint.  He 
could  neither  move  nor  speak  ;  he  dared  hardly  look  at  the 
object  lying  there  in  the  wan  light.  But  Brand  went  quickly 
forward,  and  took  hold  of  one  of  these  clinched  hands.  It 
was  quite  cold.  He  tried  to  turn  over  the  body,  but  relin- 
quished that  effort.  The  cause  of  death  was  obvious  enough. 
Kirski  had  stabbed  himself  with  one  of  the  tools  used  in  his 
trade  ;  either  he  had  deliberately  lain  down  on  the  floor  to 
make  sure  of  driving  the  weapon  home,  or  he  had  accident- 
ally fallen  so  after  dealing  himself  the  fatal  blow.  Appar- 
ently he  had  been  dead  for  some  hours. 

Brand  rose.  The  landlady  at  the  door  was  alternately 
screaming  and  sobbing  ;  declaring  that  she  was  ruined  ;  that 
not  another  lodger  would  come  to  her  house. 

"  Be  quiet,  woman,  and  send  to  the  police-station  at  once," 


412  SUNRISE. 

Brand  said.     "  Wait  a  moment :  when  did  you  last  see  this 
man  ?  " 

"  This  morning,  sir — early  this  morning,  sir,"  said  she,  in 
a  profusion  of  tears  over  her  prospective  loss.  "  He  came 
down-stairs  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  and  there  was  twopence 
for  my  little  boy  to  take  it  when  he  came  home  from  school. 
How  should  I  know  he  had  gone  back,  sir,  to  make  away 
•with  himself  like  that,  and  ruin  a  poor  widow  woman,  sir  ?  " 

"  Have  you  a  servant  in  the  house  ?  " 

*'  No  sir  ;  ruo  one  but  myself — and  me  dependent — " 

"  Then  go  at  once  to  the  police-station,  and  tell  the  in- 
spector on  duty  what  has  happened.  You  can  do  that,  can't 
you  ?  You  will  do  no  good  by  standing  crying  there,  or  get- 
ting the  neighbors  in.  I  will  stop  here  till  you  come  back." 

She  went  away,  leaving  Brand  and  his  paralyzed  compan- 
ion with  this  ghastly  object  lying  prone  on  the  floor. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  Brand  said  ;  "  his  troubles  are  at  an  end 
now.  I  wonder  whether  I  should  lift  him  on  to  the  bed,  or 
wait  until  they  come." 

Then  another  thought  struck  him  ;  and  he  turned  quickly 
to  his  companion,  who  sat  there  horrified  and  helpless. 

"  Edwards,"  said  he,  "  you  must  pull  yourself  together. 
The  police  will  ask  you  what  you  know  about  this  affair. 
Then  you  will  have  to  give  evidence  before  the  coroner's  in- 
quest. There  is  nothing  material  for  you  to  conceal ;  but 
still,  no  mention  must  be  made  of  Lisle  Street,  do  you  under- 
stand ?  " 

Edwards  nodded.  His  face  was  of  a  ghastly  white.  Then 
he  rose,  and  said, 

"  Let  us  go  somewhere  else,  Brand." 

His  companion  took  him  down-stairs  into  the  landlady's 
parlor,  and  got  him  a  glass  of  water.  Apparently  there  was 
not  a  human  being  in  the  house  but  themselves. 

"  Do  you  understand,  Edwards  ?  Give  your  private  address 
— not  Lisle  Street.  Then  you  can  tell  the  story  simply 
enough  :  that  unfortunate  fellow  came  all  the  way  from  Russia 
— virtually  a  maniac — you  can  tell  them  his  story  if  you  like  ; 
or  shall  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  It  has  been  too  much  for  me,  Brand.  You 
see,  I  had  no  business  to  tell  him  about  Lind — " 

"The  poor  wretch  would  have  ended  his  days  miserably 
anyhow,  no  doubt  in  a  mad-house,  and  probably  after  killing 
some  quite  innocent  person.     By-the-way,  they  will  ask  you 
how  you  came  to  suspect.     Where  is  that  letter  ?  " 
Edwards  took  it  from  his  pocket. 


A  SACRIFICE.  413 

"  Tear  it  up." 

He  did  so ;  but  Brand  took  the  fragments  and  put  them  in 
his  own  pocket. 

"  You  can  tell  them  he  wrote  to  you,  and  from  the  madness 
of  the  letter  you  thought  something  was  wrong.  You  de- 
stroyed the  letter.  But  where  is  Natalie's  portrait  ? — that 
must  not  fall  into  their  hands." 

He  instantly  went  up-stairs  again,  leaving  his  companion 
alone.  There  was  something  strange  in  his  entering  this 
room  where  the  corpse  lay ;  it  seemed  necessary  for  him  to 
walk  on  tiptoe  :  he  uncovered  his  head.  A  glance  round  the 
almost  empty  room  speedily  showed  him  what  he  wanted  ; 
there  was  a  small  wooden  casket  in  a  dusky  corner  by  the 
window,  and  that,  he  made  no  doubt,  was  the  box  the  un- 
happy Kirski  had  made  to  contain  Natalie's  portrait,  and  that 
he  had  quite  recently  dug  out  from  its  place  of  concealment. 
Brand  was  surprised,  however,  to  find  the  casket  empty. 
Then  he  glanced  at  the  fireplace ;  there  was  a  little  dust  there, 
as  of  burnt  card-board.  Then  he  made  sure  that  Kirski  him- 
self had  taken  steps  to  prevent  the  portrait  falling  into  alien 
hands. 

Beside  the  box,  however,  lay  a  piece  of  paper,  written  over 
in  pencil.  He  took  it  up  and  made  out  it  was  chiefly  ill- 
spelled  Italian  :  "  Whatever  punishment  may  be  decreed  against 
any  Officer,  Companion,  or  Friend  of  the  Society,  may  be  vicari- 
ously borne  by  any  other  Officer,  Companion,  or  Friend,  who,  of 
his  own  full  and  free  cons  cut.  acts  as  substitute — the  original 
offender  becoming  thereby  redeemed,  acquitted,  and  released." 
Then  followed  some  words  which  he  could  not  make  out  at 
all. 

He  carried  the  paper  down-stairs. 

"  He  appears  to  have  burnt  the  photograph,  Edwards ;  but 
he  has  left  this — see." 

Edwards  glanced  at  the  trembling  scrawl  with  a  slight 
shiver;  the  handwriting  was  the  same  as  that  he  had  received 
half  an  hour  before. 

"It  is  only  Article  V.,"  he  said.  "The  poor  fellow  used 
to  keep  repeating  that,  after  Calabressa  and  I  taught  him  in 
Venice." 

"  But  what  is  written  below  ?  " 

Edwards  forced  himself  to  take  the  paper  in  his  hands,  and 
to  scan  more  carefully  its  contents. 

"  It  is  Russian,"  he  said,  "  but  so  badly  written.  '  My  life 
is  not  endurable  longer,  but  I  shall  die  happy  in  being  of  service 
to  the.  beautiful  angel  who  was  kind  to  me.  Tell  her  she  need  not 


414  S 

be  in  trouble  any  more.  I  forgive  Pavel  Michaieloff,  as  my 
masters  desire.  I  do  not  wish  my  wife  or  my  neighbors  to  know 
what  I  have  done?  " 

"This  we  have  no  right  to  meddle  with,"  Brand  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  I  will  put  it  back  where  I  got  it.  But  you 
see,  Edwards,  you  will  have  to  admit  that  you  were  aware 
this  poor  wretch  was  in  communication  with  some  secret  society 
or  other.  Further  than  that  you  need  say  nothing.  The  cause 
of  his  suicide  is  clear  enough;  the  man  was  mad  when  he 
came  to  England  with  that  wild  craving  for  revenge  in  his 
brain." 

Brand  carried  the  paper  up-stairs  again,  and  placed  it 
where  he  had  found  it.  At  the  same  moment  there  was  a 
sound  of  footsteps  below ;  and  presently  the  police-officers, 
accompanied  by  the  landlady  and  by  Gathorne  Edwards,  who 
had  somewhat  recovered  his  composure,  entered  to  hold  their 
preliminary  investigation.  The  notes  that  the  inspector  took 
down  in  his  pocketbook  were  brief  enough,  and  were  mostly 
answers  to  questions  addressed  to  Brand,  regarding  what  he 
knew  of  the  deceased  man's  circumstances.  The  police-sur- 
geon had  meanwhile  had  the  body  placed  on  the  bed  ;  he  also 
was  of  opinion  that  the  man  had  been  dead  some  hours.  Ed- 
wards translated  for  the  inspector  the  writing  on  the  paper 
found  lying  there,  and  said  he  believed  Kirski  had  some  con- 
nection with  a  secret  society,  but  that  it  was  obvious  he  had 
destroyed  himself  from  despair ;  and  that,  indeed,  the  un- 
happy man  had  never  been  properly  right  in  his  mind  since 
ever  he  had  known  him,  though  they  had  hoped,  by  getting 
him  to  do  steady  work  and  sure  wages,  to  wean  him  away 
from  brooding  over  the  wrongs  that  had  driven  him  from  his 
native  country.  Edwards  gave  the  officer  his  address,  Brand 
saying  that  he  had  to  leave  England  that  same  night,  and 
would  not  be  available  for  any  further  inquiry,  but  that  his 
f'k'.nd  knew  precisely  as  much  about  the  case  as  himself. 
Then  he  and  his;  companion  left. 

Edwards  breathed  more  freely  when  he  got  out  of  the  house, 
even  into  the  murky  atmosphere  of  Soho. 

"It  is  a  tragic  end,"  he  said,  "but  perhaps  it  is  the  best 
that  could  have  befallen  him.  I  called  yesterday  at  the  shop, 
and  found  he  was  there,:and  sober,  though  I  did  not  see  him. 
I  was  surprised  to  find  heUiad  gone  back." 

"  I  thought  he  had  solemnly  promised  you  not  to  drink  any 
more,"  Brand  said. 

"He  had  made  the  same  promises  before.  He  took  to 
drink  merely  to  forget — to  drown  this  thin^  that  was  working 


A  SACRIFICE.  415 

in  his  brain.  If  he  had  lived,  it  would  have  been  the  old 
story  over  again.  He  would  have  buried  the  portrait  in  St. 
James's  Park,  as  he  did  before,  gone  back  to  the  gin-shop, 
and  in  course  of  time  drank  himself  to  death.  This  end  is 
terrible  enough,  but  there  is  a  touch  of  something  fine  about 
it — it  redeems  much.  What  a  worship  the  poor  fellow  had 
for  Miss  Lind,  to  be  sure  ;  because  she  was  kind  to  him  when 
he  was  half  mad  with  his  wrongs.  I  remember  he  used  to  go 
about  the  churches  in  Venice  to  see  if  any  of  the  saints  in  the 
pictures  were  like  her,  but  none  satisfied  him.  You  will  send 
her  a  message  of  what  he  has  clone  to  repay  her  at  last  ?  " 

I  will  take  it  myself,"  said  Brand,  hastily.  "  I  must  go, 
Edwards.  You  must  get or to  come  to  these  cham- 
bers— any  one  you  may  think  of.  I  must  go  myself,  and  at 
once." 

"To-night,  then?" 

"  Yes,  to  night.     It  is  a  pity  I  troubled  Evelyn  to  go." 

"  He  would  stay  a  day,  perhaps  two  days,  in  Genoa.  It  is 
just  possible  you  might  overtake  him  by  going  straight 
through." 

"  Yes,"  said  Brand,  with  a  strange  smile  on  his  face,  as  if 
he.  were  looking  at  something  far  away,  and  it  was  scarcely  to 
his  companion  that  he  spoke,  "  I  think  I  will  go  straight 
through.  I  should  not  like  any  one  but  myself  to  take  Nata- 
lie this  news." 

They  walked  back  to  the  chambers,  and  Brand  began  to 
put  things  in  order  for  his  going. 

"It  is  rather  a  shame,"  he  said,  during  this  business,  "for 
one  to  be  glad  that  this  poor  wretch  has  come  to  such  an 
end  ;  but  what  better  could  have  happened  to  him,  as  you 
say  ?  You  will  see  about  a  decent  funeral,  Edwards  ;  and  I 
will  leave  you  something  to  stop  the  mouth  of  that  caterwaul- 
ing landlady.  You  can  tell  them  at  the  inquest  that  he  has 
no  relations  in  this  country." 

By-and-by  he  said, 

"  If  there  are  any  debts,  I  will  pay  them  ;  and  if  no  one 
has  any  objection  I  should  like  to  have  that  casket,  to  show 
to — to  Miss  Lind.  Did  you  see  the  carving  on  it  ?  " 

"  I  looked  at  it." 

"  He  must  have  spent  many  a  night  working  at  that.  Poor 
wretch,  I  wish  I  had  looked  after  him  more,  and  done  more 
for  him.  One  always  feels  that  when  people  are  dead,  and  it 
is  too  late." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  done  more  for  him,"  Ed- 


416  SUA'AJSti. 

wards  said,  honestly  enough  ;  though  indeed  it  was  he  himself 
who  had  been  Kirski's  chief  protector  of  late. 

Before  evening  came  Brand  had  put  affairs  in  proper  trim 
for  his  departure,  and  he  left  London  with  a  lighter  heart  than 
had  been  his  for  a  long  time.  But  ever  and  anon,  as  he 
journeyed  to  the  south,  with  a  wonderful  picture  of  joy  and 
happiness  before  him,  his  mind  would  wander  away  back  to 
the  little  room  in  Soho,  and  he  could  see  the  unhappy  Rus- 
sian lying  dead,  with  the  message  left  behind  for  the  beauti- 
ful angel  who  had  been  kind  to  him ;  and  he  could  not  but 
think  that  Kirski  would  have  died  happier  if  he  had  known 
that  Natalie  herself  would  come  some  day  and  put  flowers, 
tenderly  and  perhaps  even  with  tears,  on  his  grave.  Who 
that  knew  her  could  doubt  but  that  that  would  be  her  first 
act  on  returning  to  England  ?  At  least,  Brand  thought  so. 


CHAPTER   LIX. 

NATALIE    SPEAKS. 

IT  was  about  five  in  the  morning,  and  as  yet  dark,  when 
George  Brand  arrived  in  Naples.  He  wrote  a  note  asking 
Calabressa  to  call  on  him,  and  left  it  to  be  despatched  by  the 
porter  of  the  hotel ;  then  he  lay  down  for  an  hour  or  two, 
without  undressing,  for  he  was  somewhat  fatigued  with  his 
continuous  travelling. 

On  going  down  to  breakfast  he  got  Calabressa's  answer, 
saying  he  was  very  sorry  he  could  not  obey  the  commands  of 
his  dear  friend  Monsieur  Brand,  because  he  was  on  duty ; 
but  that  he  could  be  found,  if  Monsieur  Brand  would  have 
the  goodness  to  seek  out  the  wine-vaults  of  one  Tommaso,  in 
the  Vicolo  Isotta.  There,  also,  Monsieur  Brand  would  see 
some  others. 

Accordingly,  after  breakfast  Brand  set  out,  leisurely  and 
observantly,  for  he  did  not  think  there  was  any  great  hurry. 
It  was  a  beautiful,  brisk,  breezy  morning,  though  occasion- 
ally a  squall  of  rain  swept  across  the  roughened  sea,  blotting 
out  Capri  altogether.  There  were  crisp  gleams  of  white  on 
the  far  plain,  and  there  was  a  dazzling  mist  of  sunlight  and 
sea-foam  where  the  waves  sprung  high  on  the  rocks  of  the 
citadel  ;  and  even  here  in  the  busy  streets  there  was  a  fresh 
sea-odor  as  the  gusts  of  the  damp  wind  blew  along.  Naples 
was  alive  and  bury,  but  Brand  regarded  this  swarming  popu- 


NATALIE  SPEAKS.  417 

lation  with  but  little  interest.  He  knew  that  none  of  his 
friends  would  be  out  and  abroad  so  early. 

In  due  time  he  found  out  the  gloomy  little  court  and  the 
wine-vaults.  Moreover,  he  had  no  trouble  with  the  ghoul-like 
Tommaso,  who  had  apparently  received  his  instructions.  No 
sooner  had  Brand  inquired  for  Calabressa  than  he  was  invited 
to  follow  his  guide,  who  waddled  along,  candle  in  hand,  like 
some  over-grown  orang-outang.  At  length  they  reached  the 
stair-case,  where  there  was  a  little  more  light,  and  here  he 
found  Calabressa  waiting  to  receive  him.  Calabressa  seemed 
overjoyed. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  you  have  arrived  op- 
portunely. You  also  will  remonstrate  with  that  beautiful 
child  for  having  fallen  out  with  her  old  friend  Calabressa. 
Think  of  it !  one  who  would  wear  his  knees  out  to  serve  her  ; 
and  when  I  go  to  the  hotel — " 

"  One  word,  Calabressa,"  said  Brand,  as  he  followed  him 
into  a  small  empty  room.  "  Tell  me,  is  Lind  in  Naples  ?  " 

"  Assuredly.  He  has  petitioned  for  a  year's  grace  :  he 
wishes  to  join  the  Montenegrins." 

*•  He  will  have  more  than  a  year's  grace,"  said  Brand, 
gravely.  "  Something  has  happened.  You  remember  the 
man  Kirski?  Well,  he  has  killed  himself  to  release  Lind." 

"  Just  Heaven  ! "  Calabressa  exclaimed ;  but  the  excla- 
mation was  one  of  astonishment,  not  in  the  least  of  regret. 
On  the  contrary,  he  began  to  speak  in  tones  of  exultation. 

"Ah,  let  us  hear  now  what  the  beautiful  child  will  say! 
For  who  was  it  that  reclaimed  that  savage  animal,  and  taught 
him  the  beautifulness  of  self-sacrifice,  and  showed  him  how 
the  most  useless  life  could  be  made  serviceable  and  noble  ? 
Who  but  I  ?  He  was  my  pupil :  I  first  watched  the  light  of 
virtue  beginning  to  radiate  through  his  savage  nature.  That 
is  what  I  will  ask  the  beautiful  Natalushka  when  I  see  her. 
Perhaps  she  will  not  again  turn  away  from  an  old  friend — " 

"You  seem  to  forget,  Calabressa,  that  your  teaching  has 
brought  this  man  to  his  deafcin,"  Brand  said. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Calabressa,  with  a  perfectly  honest 
stare.  "  Why  not  ?  Was  it  not  well  done  ?  Was  it  not  a 
fitting  end  ?  Why  I,  even  I,  who  watched  him  long,  did  not 
expect  to  see  that :  his  savagery  falling  away  from  him  bit  by 
bit ;  himself  rising  to  this  grand  height,  that  he  should  give 
his  life  to  save  another :  I  tell  you  it  is  a  beautiful  thing ;  he 
has  understood  what  I  taught  him  ;  he  has  seen  clear." 

Calabressa  was  much  excited,  and  very  proud.  It  seemed 
27 


418  SUNXTSE. 

to  him  that  he  had  saved  a  soul  as  he  remarked  in  his  ornate 
French. 

"  Perhaps  it  has  all  happened  for  the  best,"  Brand  said  ; 
"perhaps  it  was  the  best  that  could  have  befallen  that  poor 
devil,  too.  But  you  are  mistaken,  Calabressa,  about  his  rea- 
sons for  giving  up  his  life  like  that.  It  \vas  not  for  the  sake 
of  a  theory  at  all,  admirable  as  your  teachings  may  have  been  ; 
it  was  for  the  sake  of  Natalie  Lind.  He  heard  she  was  in 
trouble,  and  he  learned  the  cause  of  it.  It  was  gratitude  to 
her — it  was  love  for  her — that  made  him  do  this." 

Calabressa  changed  his  ground  in  an  instant. 

"  Assuredly — assuredly,  my  dear  friend  :  do  you  think  I 
fail  to  understand  that — I,  who  perceived  that  he  worshipped 
that  beautiful  child  as  if  she  were  a  saint,  and  more  than  all 
the  saints — do  you  think  I  cannot  mark  that — the  sentiment 
of  love,  the  fervor  of  worship,  growing  brighter  and  purer  day 
by  day  until  it  burst  into  the  beautiful  flame  of  self-sacrifice  ? 
My  faith  !  this  must  be  told  at  once.  Remain  here  a  few  mo- 
ments, my  dear  Mr.  Brand.  This  is  news  indeed." 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Calabressa.  I  came  to  you  to  get  the  name 
of  Natalie's  hotel :  and  where  is  Lord  Evelyn  ? " 

"  One  moment — one  moment,"  said  the  old  albino,  as  he 
went  out  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

When  Calabressa  ceased  to  talk  in  French,  he  ceased  to 
use  roundabout  literary  sentimental  metaphors ;  and  his  re- 
port, delivered  in  the  next  room,  would  appear  to  have  been 
brief  enough  ;  for  almost  immediately  he  returned,  accom- 
panied by  Von  Zoesch,  to  whom  Brand  was  introduced. 

"  I  am  honored  in  making  your  acquaintance,"  the  tall 
soldier  said,  in  a  pleasant  way.  "  I  have  heard  much  of  you ; 
you  are  a  good  worker ;  likewise  you  do  not  flinch  when  a 
duty  is  demanded  of  you.  Perhaps,  if  you  would  only  con- 
descend to  re-enforce  the  treasury  sometimes,  the  Council 
would  be  still  further  grateful  to  you.  However,  we  are  not 
to  become  beggars  at  a  first  interview — and  that  a  short  one, 
necessarily — for  to-day  we  start  £pr  Genoa." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  Brand  said,  simply.  "  There  were 
some  representations  I  wished  to  lay  before  the  Council — 
some  very  serious  representations." 

"  Perhaps  some  other  time,  then.  In  the  mean  while,  our 
hands  are  full.  And  that  reminds  me  that  the  news  you 
bring  makes  one  of  my  tasks  to-day  a  pleasant  one.  Yes,  I 
remember  something  of  that  maniac-fellow  babbling  about  a 
saint  and  an  angel — I  heard  of  it.  So  it  was  your  beautiful 
Miss  Lind  who  was  the  saint  and  the  angel  ?  Well,  do  you 


NATALIE  SPEAKS.  419 

know  that  I  was  about  to  give  that  young  lady  a  very  good 
scolding  to-day  ? " 

Brand  flushed  quickly.  The  authority  of  the  Council  had 
no  terrors  for  him  where  Natalie  was  concerned. 

"  I  beg  to  remind  you,"  he  said,  respectfully  but  firmly, 
"  that  the  fact  of  Miss  Lind's  father  being  connected  with  the 
Society  gives  no  one  the  right  to  intermeddle  in  her  private 
affairs — " 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  laughing,  "  I 
have  ample  right.  Her  mother  Natalie  and  i  are  very  old 
friends  indeed.  You  have  not  seen  the  charming  young  lady, 
then,  since  your  arrival  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Excellent — excellent !  You  shall  come  and  hear  the 
scolding  I  have  to  give  her.  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  will  not 
harm  her  much.  Calabressa  will  bring  you  along  to  the 
Villa  Odelschalchi,  eleven  sharp.  We  must  not  keep  a  lady 
— two  ladies,  indeed — waiting,  after  making  an  appoint- 
ment." 

He  rose  from  the  plain  wooden  chair  on  which  he  had 
been  sitting  ;  and  his  visitor  had  to  rise  also.  But  Brand 
stood  reluctant  to  go,  and  his  brows  were  drawn  down. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  "  but  if  you  are  so  busy,  why 
not  depute  some  friend  of  the  young  lady  to  carry  her  a  mes- 
sage ?  A  girl  is  easily  frightened." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  sir ;  having  made  an  appointment,  must 
we  not  keep  it  ?  Come,  I  shall  expect  you  to  make  one  of 
the  party;  it  will  be  a  pleasant  little  comedy  before  we  go  to 
more  serious  matters.  Au  revoir  !  "  He  bowed  slightly,  and 
withdrew. 

Some  little  time  afterward  Brand,  Evelyn,  and  Calabressa 
were  driving  along  the  rough  streets  in  an  open  carnage. 
The  presence  of  Lord  Evelyn  had  been  a  last  concession  ob- 
tained from  General  von  Zoesch  by  Calabressa. 

"  Why  not?  "  Von  Zoesch  had  said,  good-naturedly  ;  "  he 
is  one  of  us.  Besides,  there  is  nothing  of  importance  at  Por- 
tici.  It  is  a  little  family  party ;  it  is  a  little  comedy  before 
we  go  to  Genoa." 

As  they  rattled  along,  Lord  Evelyn  was  very  talkative  and 
joyous.  He  had  seen  Natalie  the  evening  before,  within  an 
hour  after  his  arrival.  He  was  laughing  at  Brand  for  fearing 
she  might  have  been  induced  to  go  to  some  wretched  inn. 

"  I  myself,  did  I  not  say  to  you  it  was  a  beautiful  hotel  ?  " 
fiid  Calabressa,  with  a  hurt  air.  "  The  most  beautiful  view 
"'Naples." 


420  SUNKISE. 

"  I  think,  after  what  she  will  hear  to-day,"  said  Evelyn, 
she  ought  to  ask  us  to  dine  there.  That  would  be  an  English 
way  of  finishing  up  all  her  trials  and  troubles."  But  he 
turned  to  Calabressa  with  a  graver  look.  "  What  about 
Lind  ?  Will  they  reinstate  him  now  ?  W7ill  they  send  him 
back  to  England  ?  " 

"  Reinstate  him  in  office  ?  "  said  Calabressa,  with  a  scorn- 
ful smile.  "  My  faith,  no  !  Neither  him  nor  Beratinsky. 
They  will  give  them  letters  to  Montenegro  :  isn't  it  enough?  " 

•'  Well,  I  think  so.     And  Reitzei  ?  " 

"  Reitzei  has  been  stationed  at  Brindisi — one  of  our  mor- 
al police  ;  and  lucky  for  him  also." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Villa  Odelschalchi  they  were 
shown  into  a  little  anteroom  where  they  found  Granaglia,  and 
he  was  introduced  to  the  two  strangers. 

"  Who  have  come  ?  "  Calabressa  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  little  sallow-faced  Secretary  smiled. 

"  Several  Brothers  of  the  Council,"  he  said.  "  They  wish 
to  see  this  young  lady  who  has  turned  so  many  heads.  You, 
for  example,  my  Calabressa,  are  mad  with  regard  to  her. 
Well,  they  pay  her  a  compliment.  It  is  the  first  time  any  wo- 
man has  been  in  the  presence  of  the  Council." 

At  this  moment  Von  Zoesch  came  in,  and  hastily  threw  aside 
his  travelling-cloak. 

"  Come,  my  friends,"  said  he  ,  and  he  took  them  with  him, 
leaving  Granaglia  to  receive  the  ladies  when  they  should  ar- 
rive. 

The  lofty  and  spacious  apartment  they  now  entered,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  corridor,  was  apparently  one  of  a  suite  of 
rooms  facing  the  sea.  Its  walls  were  decorated  in  Pompeian 
fashion,  with  simulated  trellis-work,  and  plenty  of  birds,  beasts, 
and  fishes  about ;  but  the  massive  curtains  and  spreading 
chandeliers  were  all  covered  over  as  if  the  house  had  not  been 
inhabited  for  some  time.  All  that  was  displayed  of  the  furni- 
ture of  the  chambers  were  some  chairs  of  blue  satin,  with 
white  and  gold  backs  and  legs ;  and  these  looked  strange 
enough,  seeing  that  they  were  placed  irregularly  round  an  ob- 
long, rough  deal  table,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  just  come 
from  the  workshop  of  some  neighboring  carpenter.  At  or 
near  this  table  several  men,  nearly  all  elderly,  were  sitting, 
talking  carelessly  to  each  other;  one  of  them,  indeed,  at  the 
farthermost  corner,  was  a  venerable  patriarch,  who  wore  a 
large  soft  wide-awake  over  his  snow-white  hair.  At  the  head 
of  the  table  sat  the  handsome,  pale-faced,  Greek-looking  ma' 
•\rho  has  been  mentioned  as  one  Conventz.  He  was  writiS 


NATALIE  SPEAKS,  421 

a  letter,  but  stopped  when  Brand  and  Evelyn  were  introduced 
to  him.  Then  Calabressa  drew  in  some  more  of  the  gilt  and 
blue  chairs,  and  they  sat  down  close  by. 

Brand  kept  anxiously  looking  toward  the  door.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait.  When  it  opened,  Granaglia  appeared,  conducting 
into  the  room  two  figures  dressed  in  black.  These  dark  fig- 
ures looked  impressive  in  the  great,  white,  empty  room. 

For  a  second  Natalie  stood  bewildered  and  irresolute,  see- 
ing all  these  faces  turned  to  her ;  and  when  her  eyes  fell  on 
her  lover,  she  turned  deadly  pale.  But  she  went  forward, 
along  with  her  mother,  to  the  two  chairs  brought  for  them  by 
Granaglia,  and  they  sat  down.  The  mother  was  veiled.  Na- 
talie glanced  at  her  lover  again  ;  there  was  a  strange  look  in 
his  face,  but  not  of  pain  or  fear. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  in  his  pleasantest 
way,  "  we  have  nothing  but  good  news  to  communicate  to  you, 
so  you  must  not  be  alarmed.  You  are  among  friends.  We 
are  going  away  to-day  ;  we  all  wish  to  say  good-bye  to  you, 
and  wish  you  a  happy  journey  back  to  England  ;  that  is' all. 
But  I  will  tell  you  that  my  first  object  in  asking  you  to  come 
here  was  to  give  you  a  good  rating ;  when  you  and  I  should 
have  been  alone  together  I  would  have  asked  you  if  you  had 
no  consideration  for  old  friends,  that  you  should  have  turned 
away  from  my  colleague,  Calabressa,  and  wounded  him  griev- 
ously. I  would  have  reminded  you  that  it  was  not  he,  but  you 
yourself,  who  put  the  machinery  in  motion  which  secured  your 
father's  righteous  conviction." 

"  I  ask  you  to  spare  me,  signore,"  the  girl  said,  in  alow  and 
trembling  voice. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  now  going  to  scold  you,  my  dear  young  lady 
I  intended  to  have  done  so.  I  intended  to  have  shown  you 
that  you  were  wrong,  and  exceedingly  ungrateful,  and  that 
you  ought  to  ask  pardon  of  my  friend  Calabressa.  However, 
it  is  all  changed.  You  need  not  fear  him  any  more ;  you  need 
not  turn  away  from  him.  Your  father  is  pardoned,  and 
free !  " 

She  looked  up,  uncertain,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  aright. 

"  I  repeat :  your  father  is  pardoned,  and  free.  You  shall 
learn  how  and  why  afterward.  Meanwhile  you  have  nothing 
before  you,  as  I  take  it,  but  to  reap  the  reward  of  your  brav- 
ery." 

She  did  not  hear  this  last  sentence.  She  had  turned  quickly 
to  her  mother. 

"  Mother,  do  you  hear  ? "  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

*  Yes,  yes,  child  :  thank  God  !  " 


422  SUNRISE. 

"  Now,  you  see,  my  dear  young  lady,"  Von  Zoesch  continued, 
"  it  is  not  a  scolding,  but  good  news  I  have  given  you ;  and 
nothing  remains  but  that  you  should  bid  us  good-bye,  and 
say  you  are  not  sorry  you  appealed  to  us  when  you  were  in 
trouble,  according  to  the  advice  of  your  good  friend  Calabressa. 
See,  I  have  brought  here  with  me  a  gentleman  whom  you 
know,  and  who  will  see  you  safe  back  to  Naples,  and  to  Eng- 
land ;  and  another,  his  companion,  who  is  also,  I  understand, 
an  old  friend  of  yours  :  you  will  have  a  pleasant  party.  Your 
father  will  be  sent  to  join  in  a  good  cause,  where  he  may 
retrieve  his  name  if  he  chooses  ;  you  and  your  friends  go 
back  to  England.  So  I  may  say  that  all  your  wishes  are 
gratified  at  last,  and  we  have  nothing  now  but  to  say  good- 
bye !  " 

The  girl  had  been  glancing  timidly  and  nervously  at  the  fig- 
ures grouped  round  the  table,  and  her  breast  was  heaving.  She 
rose  ;  perhaps  it  was  to  enable  herself  to  speak  more  fjfeely  ; 
perhaps  it  was  only  out  of  deference  to  those  seated  there. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  it  was  heard  clearly 
enough  in  the  silence.  "  I — I  would  say  a  word  to  you — 
whom  I  may  not  see  again.  Yes,  I  thank  you — from  my 
heart ;  you  have  taken  a  great  trouble  away  from  my  life.  I 
— I  thank  you ;  but  there  is  something  I  would  say." 

She  paused  for  a  second.  She  was  very  pale.  She  seemed 
to  be  nerving  herself  for  some  effort ;  and,  strangely  enough, 
her  mother's  hand,  unseen,  was  stretched  up  to  her,  and  she 
clasped  it  and  held  it  tight.  It  gave  her  courage. 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  only  a  girl ;  you  are  my  elders,  and  you 
are  men  ;  but  I  have  known  good  and  brave  men  who  were 
not  ashamed  to  listen  to  what  a  woman  thought  was  right ; 
and  it  is  as  a  woman  that  I  speak  to  you,"  she  said  ;  and  her 
voice,  low  and  timid  as  it  was,  had  a  strange,  pathetic  vibra- 
tion in  it,  that  went  to  the  heart.  "  I  have  suffered  much  of 
late.  I  hope  no  other  woman  will  ever  suffer  in  the  same 
way." 

Again  she  hesitated,  but  for  the  last  time. 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,  you  \vho  are  so  powerful,  you  who  profess 
to  seek  only  mercy  and  justice  and  peace,  why  should  you, 
also,  follow  the  old,  bad,  cruel  ways,  and  stain  yourselves  with 
blood  ?  Surely  it  is  not  for  you,  the  friends  of  the  poor,  the 
champions  of  the  weak,  the  teachers  of  the  people,  to  rely  on 
the  weapon  of  the  assassin !  When  you  go  to  the  world,  and 
seek  for  help  and  labor,  surely  you  should  go  with  clean  hands 
— so  that  the  wives  and  the  sisters  and  the  daughters  of  those 
who  may  join  you  may  not  have  their  lives  made  terrible  to 


NATALIE  SPEAKS.  423 

them.  It  is  not  a  reign  of  terror  you  would  establish  on  the 
earth  !  For  the  sake  of  those  who  have  already  joined  you 
— for  the  sake  of  the  far  geater  numbers  who  may  yet  be 
your  associates — I  implore  you  to  abandon  these  secret  and 
dreadful  means.  Surely,  gentlemen,  the  blessing  of  Heaven 
is  more  likely  to  follow  you  and  crown  your  work  if  you  can 
say  to  every  man  whom  you  ask  to  join  you,  '  You  have  wo- 
men-folk around  you.  They  have  tender  consciences,  per- 
haps ;  but  we  will  ask  of  you  nothing  that  your  sister  or  your 
wrife  or  your  daughter  would  not  approve/  Then  good  men 
will  not  be  afraid  of  you ;  then  brave  men  will  not  have  to 
stifle  their  conscience  in  serving  you ;  and  whether  you  suc- 
ceed or  do  not  succeed,  you  will  have  walked  in  clear  ways." 

Her  mother  felt  that  she  was  trembling ;  but  her  voice 
did  not  tremble — beyond  that  pathetic  thrill  in  it  which  was  al- 
ways there  when  she  was  deeply  moved. 

"  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  said,  addressing  her- 
self more  particularly  to  Von  Zoesch,  but  scarcely  daring  to 
lift  her  eyes.  "  But — but  do  not  think  that,  when  you  have 
made  everything  smooth  for  a  woman's  happiness,  she  can 
then  think  only  of  herself.  She  also  may  think  a  little  about 
others  ;  and  even  with  those  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to 
her,  how  can  she  bear  to  know  that  perhaps  they  may  be  en- 
gaged in  something  dark  and  hidden,  something  terrible — not 
because  it  involves  danger  but  because  it  involves  shame  ? 
Gentlemen,  if  you  choose,  you  can  do  this.  I  appeal  to  you. 
I  implore  you.  If  you  do  not  seek  the  co-operation  of  women — 
well,  that  is  a  light  matter ;  you  have  our  sympathy  and  love 
and  gratitude — at  least  you  can  pursue  ways  and  means  of 
which  women  can  approve  ;  ways  and  means  of  which  no  one, 
man  or  woman,  needs  be  ashamed.  How  otherwise  are  you 
what  you  profess  to  be — the  lovers  of  what  is  just  and  true 
and  merciful  ? " 

She  sat  down,  still  all  trembling.  She  held  her  mother's 
hand.  There  was  a  murmur  of  sympathy  and  admiration. 

Brand  turned  to  Von  Zoesch,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  You  hear,  sir  ?  These  are  the  representations  I  had 
wished  to  lay  before  the  Council.  I  have  not  a  word  to  add." 

"We  will  consider  by-and-by,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  rising. 
"  It  is  not  a  great  matter.  Come  to  me  in  Genoa  as  you  pass 
through." 

But  the  tall  old  gentleman  with  the  long  white  hair  had 
already  risen  and  gone  round  to  where  the  girl  sat,  and  put' 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"My  noble  child,  you  have    spoken  well,"  said  he,  in  a 


424  SUNRISE. 

quavering,  feeble  voice.  "  Forgive  me  that  I  come  so  near; 
my  eyes  are  very  weak  now ;  and  you — you  do  not  recog- 
nize me  any  more  ?" 

"  Anton  ! "  said  the  mother. 

"  Child,"  said  he,  still  addressing  Natalie,  "  it  is  old 
Anton  Pepczinski  who  is  speaking  to  you.  But  you  are 
disturbed ;  and  I  have  greatly  changed,  no  doubt.  No  mat- 
ter. I  have  travelled  a  long  way  to  bring  you  my  blessing, 
and  I  give  it  to  you  now  :  1  shall  not  see  you  again  in  this 
world.  You  were  always  brave  and  good  ;  be  that  to  the 
end  ;  God  has  given  you  a  noble  soul." 

She  looked  up,  and  something  in  her  face  told  him  that 
she  had  recognized  him,  despite,  the  changes  time  had  made. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  in  great  delight;  "you  remember  now 
that  you  used  to  bring  me  tobacco  for  my  pipe,  and  ask  if 
I  w6uld  fight  for  your  country ;  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes, 
my  child :  you  remember,  then,  the  old  Anton  Pepczinski 
who  used  to  bring  you  sweet  things  ?  Now  come  and  take 
me  to  the  English  gentleman  ;  I  wish  to  speak  to  him.  Tell 
me,  does  he  love  you — does  he  understand  you  ? " 

She  was  silent,  and  embarrassed. 

"No!  you  will  not  speak?"  the  old  man  said,  laughing; 
"  you  cast  your  eyes  down  again.  See,  now,  how  one  changes ! 
for  in  former  days  you  made  love  openly  enough — oh  yes  ! — 
to  me,  to  me  myself — oh,  my  dear,  I  can  remember.  I  can 
remember  very  well.  I  am  not  so  old  that  I  cannot  remember." 

Brand  rose  when  he  saw  them  coming.  She  regarded  him 
earnestly  for  a  brief  second  or  two,  and  said  something  to  him 
in  English  in  an  undertone,  not  understood  by  those  stand- 
ing round. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

NEW   SHORES. 

THE  moonlight  lay  on  the  moving  Atlantic,  and  filled  the 
hollow  world  with  a  radiance  soft  and  gray  and  vague ;  but  it 
struck  sharp  and  white  on  the  polished  rails  and  spars  of  this 
great  steamer,  and  shone  on  the  long  and  shapely  decks,  and 
on  the  broad  track  of  foam  that  went  away  back  and  back  and 
back  until  it  was  lost  in  the  horizon.  It  was  late  ;  and  nearly 
all  the  passengers  had  gone  below.  In  the  silence  there  was 
only  heard  the  monotonous  sound  of  the  engines,  and  {lie  con- 


NE  W  SHORES.  42  5 

tinuous  rush  and  seething  of  the  waters  as  the  huge  vessel 
clove  its  way  onward. 

Out  there  by  the  rail,  in  the  white  light,  Natalie  Lind  lay 
back  in  her  chair,  all  wrapped  up  in  furs,  and  her  lover  was 
by  her  side,  on  a  rug  on  the  deck,  his  hand  placed  over  her 
hand. 

"To-morrow,  then,  Natalie,"  he  was  saying,  "you  will  get 
your  first  glimpse  of  America." 

"  So  you  see  I  have  procured  your  banishment  after  all," 
she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Not  you,"  was  the  answer.  "I  had  thought  of  it  often. 
For  a  new  life,  a  new  world ;  and  it  is  a  new  life  you  and  I  are 
beginning  together." 

Here  the  bell  in  the  steering-room  struck  the  half-hour ; 
it  was  repeated  by  the  lookout  forward.  The  sound  was 
strange,  in  the  silence. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "  after  we  have  done 
a  fair  share  of  work,  we  might  think  ourselves  entitled  to  rest ; 
and  what  better  could  we  do  than  go  back  to  England  for  a 
time,  and  go  down  to  the  old  place  in  Bockinghamshire  ? 
Then  Mrs.  Alleyne  would  be  satisfied  at  last.  How  proud  the 
old  dame  was  when  she  recognized  you  from  your  portrait ! 
She  thought  all  her  dreams  had  come  true,  and  that  there 
was  nothing  left  but  to  the  Checkers  and  carry  off  that  old 
cabinet  as  a  wedding  present." 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  presently,  "how  is  it  that  you  always 
manage  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time  ?  When  Mrs. 
Alleyne  took  your  mother  and  you  in  to  the  Checkers,  and 
old  Mrs.  Diggles  led  you  into  her  parlor  and  dusted  the  table 
with  her  apron,  what  made  you  think  of  asking  her  for  a  piece 
of  cake  and  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"  My  dearest,  I  saw  the  cake  in  the  bar  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  believe  the  old  woman  was  ready  to  faint  with  delight 
when  you  praised  her  currant-wine,  and  asked  how  she  made 
it.  You  have  a  wonderful  way  of  getting  round  people — 
whether  by  fair  means  or  otherwise  I  don't  know.  Do  you 
think  if  it  had  been  anybody  else  but  you  who  went  to  Von 
Zoesch  in  Genoa,  he  would  have  let  Calabressa  come  with  us 
to  America  ?  " 

"  Poor  old  Calabressa  !  "  she  said,  laughing  ;  "  he  is  very 
brave  now  about  the  sea  ;  but  he  was  terribly  frightened  that 
bad  night  we  had  after  leaving  Queenstown." 

Here  some  one  appeared  in  the  dusky  recess  at  the  top  of 
the  companion-stairs,  and  stepped  out  into  the  open. 

"  Are  you  people  never  coming  below    at  all  ?  "  he   said. 


426  SUNRISE. 

"  I  have  to  inform  you,  Miss  Natalie,  with  your  mamma's 
compliments,  that  she  can't  get  on  with  her  English  verbs  be- 
cause of  that  fat  girl  playing  Strauss  ;  and  that  she  is  going 
to  her  cabin,  and  wants  to  know  when  you  are  coming." 

"  Now,  at  once,"  said  Natalie,  getting  up  out  of  her  chair. 
"  But  wait  a  moment,  Evelyn  :  I  cannot  go  without  bidding 
good-night  to  Calabressa.  Where  is  Calabressa  ? " 

"  Calabressa  !  Oh,  in  the  smoking-room,  betting  like  mad, 
and  going  in  for  all  the  mock-auctions.  I  expect  some  of 
them  will  sit  up  all  night  to  get  their  first  sight  of  the  land. 
The  pilot  expects  that  will  be  shortly  after  daybreak." 

"You  will  be  in  time  for  that,  Natalie,  won't  you  ?  "  Brand 
asked. 

"  Oh  yes.  Good-night,  Evelyn  ! "  and  she  gave  him  her 
hand. 

Brand  went  with  her  clown  the  companion-stairs,  carrying 
her  rugs  and  shawls.  In  the  corridor  she  turned  to  bid  him 
good-night  also. 

"  Dearest,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you  know  what  I 
have  been  trying  all  day — to  get  you  to  say  one  word,  the 
smallest  word,  of  regret  ? " 

"  But  if  I  have  no  regret  whatever,  how  can  I  express  any  ?  " 

"  Sure  ?  " 

He  laughed,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Good-night,  my  darling !  " 

"  Good-night ;  God  bless  you  ! " 

Then  he  made  his  way  along  the  gloomy  corridor  again 
and  up  the  broad  zinc  steps,  and  out  into  the  moonlight. 
Evelyn  was  there,  leaning  with  his  arms  on  the  hand-rail,  and 
idly  watching,  far  below,  the  gleams  of  light  on  the  gray-black 
waves. 

"  It  is  too  fine  a  night  to  go  below,"  he  said.  "  What  do 
you  say,  Brand — shall  we  wait  up  for  the  daylight  and  the 
first  glimpse  of  America  ?  " 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Brand,  taking  out  his  cigar-case,  and 
hauling  along  the  chair  in  which  Natalie  had  been  sitting. 

They  had  the  whole  of  this  upper  deck  to  themselves, 
except  when  one  or  other  of  the  officers  passed  on  his  rounds. 
They  could  talk  without  risk  of  being  overheard  :  and  they 
had  plenty  to  talk  about — of  all  that  had  happened  of  late, 
of  all  that  might  happen  to  them  in  this  new  country  they 
were  nearing. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Evelyn,  that  settlement  in  Genoa 
clinched  everything,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  have  no 
longer  any  doubt,  any  hesitation  :  there  is  nothing  to  be  con- 


NEW  SHORES  427 

cealed  now — nothing  to  be  withheld,  even  from  those  who 
are  content  to  remain  merely  as  our  friends.  One  might  have 
gone  on  as  before ;  for,  after  all,  these  death-penalties  only 
attached  to  the  officers ;  and  the  great  mass  of  the  members, 
not  being  touched  by  them,  need  have  known  nothing  about 
them.  But  it  is  better  now." 

"  It  was  Natalie's  appeal  that  settled  that,"  Lord  Evelyn 
said,  as  he  still  watched  the  shining  waves. 

"  The  influence  of  that  girl  is  extraordinary.  One  could 
imagine  that  some  magnetism  radiated  from  her ;  or  perhaps 
it  is  her  voice,  and  her  clear  faith,  and  her  enthusiasm. 
When  she  said  something  to  old  Anton  Pepczinski,  on  bid- 
ding him  good-bye — not  about  herself,  or  about  him,  but  about 
what  some  of  us  were  hoping  for — he  was  crying  like  a  child  ! 
In  other  times  she  might  have  done  great  things :  she  might 
have  led  armies." 

By-and-by  he  said, 

"  As  for  those  decrees,  what  use  were  they  ?  From  all  I 
could  learn,  only  ten  have  been  issued  since  the  Society  was 
in  existence  ;  and  eight  of  those  were  for  the  punishment  of 
officers,  who  ought  merely  to  have  been  expelled.  Of  course 
you  will  get  people  like  Calabressa,  with  a  touch  of  theatri- 
cal-mindedness,  who  have  a  love  for  the  terrorism  such  a  thing 
can  produce.  But  what  use  is  it  ?  It  is  not  by  striking  down 
an  individual  here  or  there  that  you  can  help  on  any  wide 
movement ;  and  this  great  organization,  that  I  can  see  in  the 
future  will  have  other  things  to  do  than  take  heed  of  personal 
delinquencies — except  in  so  far  as  to  purge  out  from  itself  un- 
worthy members — its  action  will  affect  continents,  not  per- 
sons." 

"  You  can  see  that — you  believe  that,  Brand  ?  "  Lord 
Evelyn,  said,  turning  and  regarding  him. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  he  answered,  without  enthusiasm,  but 
with  simple  sincerity.  Presently  he  said,  "You  remember, 
Evelyn,  the  morning  we  turned  out  of  the  little  inn  on  the  top 
of  the  Niessen,  to  see  the  sun  rise  over  the  Bernese  Alps  ? " 

"  I  remember  it  was  precious  cold,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  al- 
most with  a  shiver. 

"You  remember,  when  we  got  to  the  highest  point,  we 
looked  down  into  the  great  valleys,  where  the  lakes  and  the 
villages  were,  and  there  it  was  still  night  under  the  heavy 
clouds.  But  before  us,  where  the  peaks  of  the  Jungfrau,  and 
the  Wetterhorn,  and  the  rest  of  them  rose  into  the  clear  sky, 
there  was  a  curious  faint  light  that  showed  the  day  was  com- 
ing. And  we  waited  and  watched,  and  the  light  grew  strong. 


428  SUNRISE. 

er,  and  all  sorts  of  colors  began  to  show  along  the  peaks. 
That  was  the  sunrise.  But  down  in  the  valleys  everything  was, 
misty  and  dark  and  cold — everything  asleep  ;  the  people  there 
could  see  nothing  of  the  new  day  we  were  looking  at.  And 
so  I  suppose  it  is  with  us  now.  We  are  looking  ahead.  We 
see,  or  fancy  we  see,  the  light  before  the  others  ;  but,  sooner 
or  later,  they  will  see  it  also,  for  the  sunrise  is  bound  to 
come." 

They  continued  talking,  and  they  paced  up  and  down  the 
decks,  while  the  half-hours  and  hours  were  struck  by  the 
bells.  The  moon  was  declining  to  the  horizon.  Long  ago 
the  last  of  the  revellers  had  left  the  smoking-room,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  interrupt  the  stillness  but  the  surge  of  the 
waters. 

Then  again — 

"  Have  you  noticed  Natalie's  mother  of  late  ?  It  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  watch  the  poor  woman's  face  ;  she  seems  to  drink  in 
happiness  by  merely  looking  at  her  daughter  ;  every  time 
that  Natalie  laughs  you  can  see  her  mother's  eyes  brighten." 

"  I  have  noticed  a  great  change  in  Natalie  herself,"  Evelyn 
said.  "  She  is  looking  younger  ;  she  has  lost  that  strange, 
half-apprehensive  expression  of  the  eyes  ;  and  she  seems  to 
be  in  excellent  spirits.  Calabressa  is  more  devotedly  her 
slave  than  ever." 

"  You  should  have  seen  him  when  Von  Zoesch  told  him  to 
pack  up  and  be  off  to  America." 

By-and-by  he  said, 

"dYou  know,  Evelyn,  if  you  can't  stay  in  America  with  us 
altogether — and  that  would  be  too  much  to  expect — don't 
say  anything  as  yet  to  Natalie  about  your  going  back.  She 
has  the'  notion  that  our  little  colony  is  to  be  founded  as  a 
permanency." 

"  Oh,  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said  Evelyn,  carelessly.  "  Things 
will  get  along  at  home  well  enough  without  me.  Didn't  I 
tell  you  that,  once  those  girls  began  to  go,  they  would  go, 
like  lightning  ?  It  is  rough  on  Blanche,  though,  that  Truda 
should  come  next.  By-the-way,  in  any  case,  Brand,  I  must 
remain  in  America  for  your  wedding." 

"  Oh,  you  will,  will  you  ?  "  said  Brand.  "  Then  that  settles 
one  point — you  won't  be  going  back  veiy  soon." 

"Why?" 

"  Of  course,  Natalie  and  I  won't  marry  until  she  is  of  age  ; 
that  is  a  good  year  and  a  half  yet.  Did  you  hear  of 
Calabressa's  mad  proposal  that  he  should  extort  from  Lind 
his  consent  to  our  marriage  as  the  price  of  the  good  news  that 


NEW  SHORES.  429 

he,  Calabressa,  had  to  reveal  ?  Like  him,  wasn't  it  ?  an  in- 
genious scheme." 

"  What  did  you  say  ? " 

"  Why,  what  could  I  say  ?  I  would  not  be  put  under  any 
obligation  to  Lind  on  any  account  whatever.  We  can  wait ; 
it  is  not  a  long  time." 

The  moonlight  waned,  and  there  was  another  light  slowly 
declaring  itself  in  the  east.  The  two  friends  continued  talking, 
and  did  not  notice  how  that  the  cold  blue  light  beyond  the 
sea  was  gradually  yielding  to  a  silver-gray.  The  pilot  and 
first  mate,  who  were  on  the  bridge,  had  just  been  joined  by 
the  captain. 

The  silver-gray  in  its  turn  gave  place  to  a  clear  yellow, 
and  high  up  one  or  two  flakes  of  cloud  became  of  a  saffron- 
red.  Then  the  burning  edge  of  the  sun  appeared  over  the 
waves  ;  the  world  lightened  ;  the  masts  and  funnels  of  the 
steamer  caught  the  glory  streaming  over  from  the  east.  The 
ship  seemed  to  waken  also ;  one  or  two  stragglers  came  tumb- 
ling up  from  below,  rubbing  their  eyes,  and  staring  strangely 
around  them  ;  but  as  yet  no  land  was  in  sight. 

The  sunrise  now  flooded  the  sky  and  the  sea  ;  the  number 
of  those  on  deck  increased  ;  and  at  last  there  was  an  eager 
passing  round  of  binoculars,  and  a  murmur  of  eager  interest. 
Those  with  sharp  eyes  enough  could  make  out,  right  ahead, 
in  the  midst  of  the  pale  glow  of  the  morning,  a  thin  blue  line 
of  coast. 

The  great  steamer  surged  on  through  the  sunlit  waters. 
And  now  even  those  who  were  without  glasses  could  distin- 
guish, here  and  there  along  that  line  of  pale-blue  land,  a  touch 
of  yellowish-white  ;  and  they  guessed  that  the  new  world  there 
was  already  shining  with  the  light  of  the  new  day.  Brand 
felt  a  timid,  small  hand  glide  into  his.  Natalie  was  standing 
beside  him,  her  beautiful  black  hair  a  trifle  dishevelled,  per- 
haps, and  her  eyes  still  bearing  traces  of  her  having  been  in 
the  realm  of  dreams  ;  but  those  eyes  were  full  of  tenderness, 
nevertheless,  as  she  met  his  look.  He  asked  her  if,  she  could 
make  out  that  strip  of  coast  beyond  the  shining  waters. 

"  Can  you  see,  Natalie  ?     It  is  our  future  home  !  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can  see  it,"  she  said  ;  "  and  the  sunrise  is  there 

before  us  :  it  is  a  happy  sign." 

*  ****** 

There  remains  to  be  added  only  this — that  about  the  last 
thing  Natalie  Lind  did  before  leaving  England  was  to  go  and 
plant  some  flowers,  carefully  and  tenderly,  on  Kirski's  grave  ; 
and  that  about  the  first  thing  she  did  on  landing  in  America 


430 


was  to  write  to  Madame  Potecki,  asking  her  to  look  after  the 
little  Anneli,  and  sending  many  loving  messages  :  for  this 
girl  —  or,  rather,  this  beautiful  child,  as  Calabressa  would  per- 
sist in  calling  her  —  had  a  large  heart,  that  -could  hold  many 
affections  and  many  memories,  and  that  was  not  capable  of 
forgetting  any  one  who  had  been  kind  to  her. 


THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


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